


Warbonds

by Kat1132



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Period Typical Attitudes, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 409,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat1132/pseuds/Kat1132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Buchanan didn't set out to be a hero, or the flagship feminist, or any of the other ridiculous names the press is calling her now. She just wants to do what's right by fighting for her country. But being the first woman to join the Army isn't as easy as she thought it would be. Eve soon realizes it's not about winning, but about surviving. No Pairings. Gen-fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Political Sway

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not have or claim ownership of any recognizable characters. This is a historical fiction meant to honor the men portrayed. I have drawn from both the Band of Brothers HBO series and several of the published personal memoirs to try and stay as historically accurate as possible. No offense is intended, and no profit is being made from this work. I have the highest regard for all the men and women who served during World War 2, and all wars before and since. I hope only to do them justice, and honor the memory of their sacrifice.
> 
> My eternal gratitude to (1) lackadaisical meandering, who got me through to the second draft, (2) Angelic Sentinel, who was among the first to stick with me through to the end, and was meticulous with her editing, (3) horsefreakh, who has read each and every iteration of this story with the patience of a saint, offering me insight and depth with each and every revision and many long car rides, and (4) Aniset, who made this story what it is today, and listened to me whining endlessly and convinced me to finally suck it up and post.
> 
> A huge thank you to Helianza, who graciously gave her time to helping me fix my terrible "GoogleFrench". 
> 
> This story wouldn't be what it is without you all. Thank you.
> 
> This chapter has been grammar picked by: Laura 001, Anonymous1O1, FandomlyCroft, Atman, and Minerva300, who are each absolutely amazing in their own way. The story would be so much poorer without you. 
> 
> All remaining errors are mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could not, at any age, be content to sit by the fireside, and simply look on. Life was meant to be lived." - Eleanor Roosevelt
> 
> "If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun." - Katharine Hepburn

-Chapter 1-

“You can’t be serious. Please tell me you’re kidding?”

“Shh!” Eve hissed, trying to get her brother to shut up. “You’ll spook all the game.”

“Eve,” Alex persisted, deliberately ignoring her.

“I’m not having this conversation right now, Alex.” She didn’t look at him, kept her attention focused down the sight of her gun, hoping to shoot something so she would have an excuse to ignore her bothersome brother. This was the fifth time he’d tried to have this conversation with her, and the topic hadn’t been up for discussion to begin with.

The siblings’ third hunting companion Mipsy was a pure-bred spaniel with brown spots and expressive eyes. Though keenly sensing the tension between the siblings and acutely bothered by it, what with her head tucked to the ground between her paws, Mipsy’s eyes stayed trained on the sky, eagerly anticipating the promised fun of a hunt.

With a heavy sigh, Alex settled back into the bush, a mulish pout on his face as he watched his little sister valiantly pretend she wasn’t paying the slightest attention to him. Just to be contrary, he thumped her with his foot.

When she ignored that too, he thumped her again even harder.

Eve yelped as Alex kicked her. She in turn jostled Mipsy, who whined in protest.

She was about to escalate in turn when five yards away, the shrub Eve had been eyeing erupted with fleeing partridges, desperately taking to the sky to avoid being picked off by a predator.

Brother and sister both sprang to their feet, trying to hit as many of the fowl as they could.

Eve breathed to steady her hands as she shot. _One_ _,_ she thought, watching the partridge she’d been tracking drop from the sky, her bullet lodged in its head. She flowed to the next. _Two_ and _three_ followed before the flock disappeared out of range.

With a flick of her fingers, Eve sent the Mipsy bounding through the brush to retrieve their prizes. Elated, she turned to find Alex’s own beaming mug. After a second of shared exuberance, she watched his face darken and his mouth open. To avoid him, she scrambled after the dog, ready to defend herself with Mipsy’s penchant for accidentally shredding the delicate birds as she retrieved them should he call her escape into question. If her departure also happened to put off the conversation lurking in Alex's eyes, well, perhaps that was for the best.

It didn’t take her long to find the dog. Mipsy released the birds she’d gathered easily enough, knowing she was in for a treat after successfully finding the kills. From there, it only took a matter of minutes for Eve to get the prizes ready to haul back to the house.

“Eve,” Alex said again.

She knew that tone. It was his, _“You’re just a girl, what do you know?”_ tone. He used it every time he disagreed with her. She hated it.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about this,” he called after her as she tried to stay ahead of him.

“No, we’re not,” she disagreed.

“You can’t just go to war!”

“You are!”

That, right there, was the problem. Alex was leaving tomorrow, bound for the sea to fight the Japanese.

And Eve wasn’t.

His face softened. She turned away from him, unable to watch his regret when it wasn’t going to change his mind. He was still going to leave her behind.

Well, she wasn’t giving up just yet. Alex may be going to war ahead of her, but Eve was determined to join him, and soon.

There was nothing in the world Eve wanted more than to go fight for her country. What’s more, both Grandmamma and Aunt Eleanor had vowed to help her. With Aunt Eleanor (really her godmother but closer than any blood relation) and her formidable Grandmamma on her side, the battle was half won. Sure, the three of them still had to convince her father, mother, brother, and half the world – undoubtedly a herculean task – but Eve was confident in their plan.

It all hinged on the gala her parents were hosting tonight. It was Alex’s going away party, conveniently also doubling as a party to raise money for War Bonds. All the key players for the war were going to be in attendance, as well as more than a few of the wealthiest people in the country.

All Eve had to do was convince one person, just one General in the fifty or so supposed to be in attendance that she could fight as well as any man. If she managed it, she was sure Grandmamma and Aunt Eleanor could get her papa on board. He was the key to convincing her mother. As for Alex, well, her brother would just have to get over it.

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Alex said, pulling her attention back to the conversation at hand. There was enough time to fret about the party later. Her brother was an obstacle she needed to deal with now. It hurt that he wasn’t on her side. He’d been on her side ever since they were youngsters playing cops and robbers in the woods, but he couldn’t see how much this meant to her. Or worse, he just didn’t care.

“It’s not fair that you get to go just because you’re a boy. Why do you get to go die for your country? It’s my country too!” she argued again, trying to convince him one more time to see it from her side.

“Live isn’t fair, Eve! And it’s not a ‘get to,’ I have to go. If I don’t then they’d just conscript me into the infantry. At least as an officer I get a bit of say in my own destiny.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Alex. Everyone wants to go, to prove that the Japs made one helluvah mistake bombing Pearl Harbor. You don’t understand what it’s like, not being able to go! Sarah’s younger brother was 4F and killed himself,” Eve argued. “He was colorblind and had asthma and he’s not alone! Thousands of men are begging to go to war and kill the Japs, killing themselves when they’re told no! I can pass those requirements. I can fight and shoot just as well as you can. Why is me wanting to go any different?”

“It just is!”

“It shouldn’t be! I can meet the physical requirements. I can shoot a gun just as well as any man, certainly as well as you can, Alex!” Eve kept pushing, despite knowing that it didn’t matter. Alex had already made up his mind.

“Shooting is all well and good, but it doesn’t mean you can join the army!”

“You joined!”

“I didn’t have a choice!” He’d joined up before he could be drafted, but there was no avoiding the war for young able-bodied men like her brother. Better to join up and choose where he was sent than be drafted in. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He was still going and she wasn’t. Not yet, at least.

“Well, I’ve made my choice!”

“No one is going to take a girl to war!”

It was like he’d slapped her.

She spun away and all but ran back to the house to get away from him, Mipsy gleefully yipping at her feet as she bolted to the house. She ignored Alex as he called for her to come back, that he was sorry.

He wasn’t sorry, he’d meant what he’d said, and she couldn’t forgive him for it.

There had never been a difference between them. Eve did everything with Alex. Everything. Now he was going where she couldn’t follow, and it was infuriating. Eve had never wanted anything like she’d wanted to be a soldier and Alex knew it.

And he’d still thrown it back in her face.

“Eve!” she heard him call again, far away now.

She ignored him. The house was in sight.

The white washed walls, surrounded by green fields had always heralded home after a long day outside. Today they looked foreboding and sent her anxiety ratcheting again. It was frustrating. She’d gone hunting to get rid of this exact feeling and Alex had ruined it. Eve knew she should have refused when he'd asked to come along.

But he’d said he wanted to spend his last day at home with her and she’d crumbled, like he’d known she would.

He was infuriating.

She stormed into the kitchen, dumping her partridges on the table without a word to the flustered cooks, butlers, and maids, extra hands for the party tonight. She was too angry to listen to Milly, the house’s head cook, flutter over her dingy appearance. Instead, she told the dog to stay and headed up the stairs to her room.

Eve cared not at all that her trousers were caked in mud, or that she smelled like sweat and gunpowder. She’d never much cared about being the “pretty one.” That was what her older sister Elizabeth was for, well, she would be if she ever came down from her room.

At any rate, Eve had a party to get ready for, and if this was going to work, she’d need to compose herself properly.

Eve’s family was well connected and well thought of in political high-society. Her father was a senator on numerous committees and her mother was the light of Washington D.C. Whenever they were in residence at the capital, Buchanan wealth and influence turned heads. It could be worth more than any dowry if it was leveraged the right way. Eve had often taken refuge here in their country estate, to avoid suitors eager to make these connections their own.

Marie, the household maid, was laying out the royal blue evening gown that Eve was meant to wear tonight. It was a dress she'd gotten from one of those well-meaning suitors who hadn’t even known her well enough to know she would have preferred a prized pistol like the one he always wore better. Actually, the pistol was the only thing she remembered about the man (well, and the fact that he’d been a dreadful bore, too full of himself and his tiny accomplishments by half); his name had long since escaped her memory.

Eve shed her hunting jacket and trousers to hop in the bath. If she wanted to turn heads for the right reason, she needed to look the part, and for that, she’d need some time.

-

When Eve arrived downstairs, fighting the pit of anxiety in her stomach the party was already in full swing.

Elizabeth had already snagged the eye of half the room. She looked stunning; the sun had put enough red in her auburn hair this spring that the light caught it at just the right angle to bring out her sapphire eyes. All of her curves were draped and emphasized. Eve knew what the hoard of men surrounding her sister was feeling. It was the same joy and excitement she always felt when Eliza was near – like anything was possible, like being at the center of her sister’s attention was all that mattered in the world.

It was a graceful dance for Eliza, entertaining so many admiring young men, keeping them all on their toes and engaged.

Eve could only watch with envy as her confidence dwindled in the wake of her sister’s effortless beauty. She’d always felt like the ugly sister, the one passed over whenever Eliza was near.

According to Alex, Eve was too boyish for men to desire her – though, at least it made ferreting out the men hunting after her name simple enough. She guessed she must be pretty enough to keep around, because none of the Alex’s friends had ever objected to her presence when she invited herself along to more masculine forms of pleasure, like hunting trips, and camping out in the woods, and race car driving. Nevertheless, as soon as Eliza was near, they were gone like moths to hover around her beckoning flame, too much in awe to realize the danger of the fire. Too many of Alex’s friends had been spurned by Eliza enough to vanish from their circle. Eve always thought less of the men for it, because she adored her sister.

Eve’s hair had more brown in it than red, and it despaired at holding where she’d tried to style it, flopping in her eyes and generally becoming a nuisance. Mama had forbidden her from just pulling it back in a horsetail, and had even done her best to help Eve style it, but the pins itched and she couldn’t get it to stay where she wanted it to. Where Eliza’s eyes danced, Eve’s were frozen lakes of blue, which made her seem even more frigid, according to the buffoon with the fine pistol.

She was taller than Eliza too, inheriting their father’s height rather than their mother's. Yet, what had once been a source of much gloating as a child had since made Eve feel like she towered over people, particularly when she was coaxed into wearing heels. She was too willowy, with only a modest bosom rather than the full curves of her sister. Not even the tight corset she’d been synched into had given her much shape. Maybe if she’d taken mama’s advice and dedicated herself to more womanly pursuits she would put on the weight she needed for curves like her sister’s, but sitting and stitching was so boring when there was a whole world outside to explore as it changed through the seasons.

Eve saw her mother glide over to pull Eliza away from the flock of would-be suitors, and deftly guide her sister towards their father’s political rivals to charm them.

It was a dance all Senator Edward Buchanan’s children had learned practically from the cradle, but Eliza was the best at it.

Eve’s eyes stumbled to Alex, who most of Eliza’s admirers had ambled towards, decked out in his fetching pressed uniform of Navy blue. She bit her cheek to stop herself from glaring at him as he dared to give her a sardonic smile. She saw the look in his eyes, the condescension. He didn’t believe in her. Worse, he’d do everything in his power to stop her.

Eve acknowledged this challenge with a slight nod and moved on. She would make no headway with Alex tonight. Besides, he shipped out tomorrow morning, so what did it matter? The thought of leaving their disagreement unresolved nearly had her moving to his side to reason with him once again, but she steeled herself. She would not concede. She would not let him dissuade her – and he was wrong to even try.

But God, did she miss the Alex who would have cheered her on from the sidelines when they were children, before the world had seen fit to define their roles.

She turned away from him and scanned the party again. Her eyes found her Grandmamma's. A smile stole its way onto Eve’s face almost without her consent. Grandmamma Buchanan was in fine form tonight with a contingent of Generals hanging on to her every word. The elegant woman was a force of nature in black lace and ivory. Her bright silver hair gleamed like a beacon in the hall.

As Eve drifted closer she overheard the woman’s imperious voice saying, “Flora Sandes was English. She fought with the Serbian Army and made the rank of Captain. The Russians fielded an entire battalion of women so infamous they were called the Battalion of Death.”

“If memory serves, they were also known by that name because of the high casualty rate of the Battalion,” a dark haired General with three stars on his lapel commented.

Grandmamma’s voice cracked like a whip. “People die in war, General. If no one died in war, how would anyone know who’d won?” She waited until the startled laughter settled down before she continued, “And besides, there were far unluckier battalions that were comprised of all men. One of ours was even lost in the woods, God help them.

“My point, gentlemen, is this: all over the world, women are picking up the rifles dropped by men and fighting for their homes, as they’ve done for thousands of years.”

She caught Eve’s eye and winked as her male companions blustered to try and rebuff her without offending her.

“Ma’am, the simple fact is that a woman doesn’t have the strength a man does,” some fool tried to argue. “Or the mental acuity required for battle.”

“Actually,” interjected another of her companions, an elderly gentleman with kind blue eyes and bright white hair. “Queen Elizabeth defeated the Spanish Armada in the 1600s.”

“The ships sank in a storm,” another protested. “Storms don’t require skills or battle planning, just luck.”

“Anyone can get lucky. It doesn’t take an ounce of skill to shoot a gun. Not one ounce,” Grandmamma decreed. “The skill comes in getting the bullet where you want it to go; something a woman is perfectly capable of achieving.”

“Evelyn!” the woman cried, as though just noticing her granddaughter’s presence at the outskirts of their circle. “Come here, child.”

Wary, Eve complied. No one argued with Grandmamma when she used that tone. “Yes, Grandmamma?”

“You look lovely, child,” complemented Grandmamma. “Doesn’t she just look ravishing, gentlemen?”

The men were quick to agree with the woman on this point, at least.

When their complimentary murmuring died down, the grand lady said, “These men seem to think shooting is a men’s sport. Would you like to educate them?” Grandmamma winked again at Eve, who bit her abused cheek again to smother her amusement before she laughed and ruined the game.

Instead, Eve bowed her head and shoulders. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt the festivities for something so trivial, Grandmamma. Besides, I’m sure these men don’t want to see -”

“Nonsense!” cried Grandmamma. “I insist we go immediately.”

“Ma’am,” said a dashing General with dark hair graying at the temples and soft gray eyes. He was twice Eve’s age, and half her grandmothers, but he seemed genial enough with a smile tucked into the corners of his thin mouth. “It’s dark outside.”

“And since when has the dark stopped soldiers from shooting each other?” demanded her grandmother. “Come, come, General. This won’t take but a moment. Evelyn, be a dear and go fetch your rifle.”

Eve did as she was bid, retrieving her favorite gun from the cabinet in her father’s study, where one of the maids must have replaced it after she’d stormed through the kitchen. As an afterthought, Eve grabbed two boxes of ammo and took them with her. Who knew what Grandmamma had up her satin sleeve?

She returned within five minutes and met her grandmother who had somehow gathered a much larger party of gentlemen to come watch the spectacle. It seemed that the older woman had somehow gathered every last military man from the party and drawn them outside to watch the show, including her father and godparents.

“Lead the way, Edward,” Grandmamma demanded of her son. Eve’s father smiled indulgently and took his mother’s arm to lead her to the field they kept set up for skeet shooting.

Eve was surprised how well she could see. The moon was full and bathed the whole lawn with silver light.

“Now, darling,” said Grandmamma. “You stay where you are. Edward and Alex will pull for you, since they have the most experience.”

“But Grandmamma,” protested Alex, flinching at the glare the older woman fired his way. “Skeet shooting is done with a shotgun, not a rifle.” The pellets fired from a shot gun were far better for shattering the clay pigeons. Using a rifle to the same affect would be far more challenging.

“Do not argue with me, Alex. Report to your post.”

Alex obeyed like the obedient soldier he was about to be, less he risk her ire.

When the men were ready, they each held up their hands.

“Are you ready, dear?” Grandmamma asked Eve.

Eve smiled to keep from laughing. She loved shooting. “I’ll need someone to hold my ammunition boxes.”

The blue eyed General from earlier stepped forward. “I would be happy to, Miss.”

“Thank you, General,” Eve said. “I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Bill Lee, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you, General Lee,” Eve said, passing over the ammo.

Eve took a breath to calm her racing heart. She didn’t let herself think about how much was riding on this moment; didn’t let herself contemplate that her future was at stake. She inhaled and took herself back to this afternoon, where the sun was bright and everything was right in the world.

When she opened her eyes, she’d settled into an easy shooting position, rifle loaded and ready at her side. 

She took a breath, and took the plunge. “Pull!”

Her heart beat. _One, two,_ she pulled the trigger twice, both pigeons shattered.

“Pull!” she called. _One, two_ _,_ she tracked the movement the clay made through the air with precision. The trick was not to think about it. Her idle thoughts and anxieties drifted away as she reloaded. Focusing her entire being on the next breath, the next shot, again and again, until all one hundred pigeons had been shattered on the field.

“ _Hold_!” cried her grandmother.

Eve, already braced for another shot, paused, and felt like she’d fallen a hundred feet. She locked her knees to keep from staggering and tried to hide her shaking arms.

Next to her, the General she’d completely forgotten about whistled. “Damn fine shooting, Miss.”

A round of applause broke out, begun by Grandmamma but quickly becoming thunderous as the soldiers appreciated the spectacle.

Alex came bounding up to her, sweaty from hauling back the pull fifty times. “I’m gonna have to start calling you Annie Oakley!” he proclaimed as he pulled her into a hug, mussing her once tidy hair.

She took a deep breath, filling her nose with the scent of her brother and allowed herself to shake just a fraction as her body realized that the shooting was over and tried to loosen the muscles that had been tensed. She’d done her best. She just hoped it was enough.

It had to be enough.

Pulling away, she heard General Lee saying, “- got me convinced! Sign her up right now.” He was beaming at her godparents, who, seeing her attention was back on them made their way over.

“Well done, darling,” said Aunt Eleanor as she leaned in to kiss Eve on the cheek and give the girl another hug.

“Very well done, dear,” said the President of the United States, smiling broadly from the chair someone had seen fit to set up for him. Despite the immense public secrecy regarding his lingering polio, Franklin Roosevelt had no reason to hide or be ashamed of his condition here on her family’s country estate among his most trusted circle and war council, but even still, discretion was the better part of valor. Eve bent to give him a kiss on the cheek, happy as ever to see him. He squeezed her hand to show his approval.

Her father claimed her as soon as she’d straightened, putting her under his arm.

“Let’s go back inside,” Edward Buchanan announced, pinning his mother in place with his stare, not entirely happy with the outcome of this display.

Grandmamma smiled, knowing she’d already won, and allowed the party to disperse back towards the house. To her satisfaction, there was not a single conversation that didn’t revolve around the possibility of women like Eve going to war.

“I’ve already crunched the numbers on this, you know,” said the President after Eleanor had assisted him in standing. The powerful couple joined the scheming woman and slowly made their way back to the house themselves. “The American people are overwhelmingly not in favor of women being on the front lines.”

“The American people will change their minds,” decreed Eleanor. “They do every week.”

“Still, war is something I had wished to keep from our Evelyn.”

“She wants to go, Franklin,” Eleanor reminded him gently. “She will go with or without our blessing. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a ticket for France in her purse already.”

“Which is why,” said Madame Buchanan, “I, for one, want her to get all the training she can stand.”

Roosevelt sighed, knowing he was outmaneuvered. “If her father says she can go, she will go with my blessing,” he finally allowed.

Madame Buchanan and Eleanor shared a look, knowing how Franklin didn’t like to lose, even to them. But they had won all the same.

“Tell me about this General Lee chap,” enticed Madame Buchanan, settling the matter.

“He’s been put in charge of a new concept for the European Front. The idea is that soldiers parachute behind enemy lines. The Germans used the method to invade Belgium and Holland in their ‘lightning war’.”

“I like him,” decreed Madame Buchanan.

“He’s a good man,” agreed Roosevelt, turning an idea about Eve’s possible enlistment over in his head. He missed the sly look passed between the women on either side of him.

_Men_ , thought Madame Buchanan, smugly. _You just have to make them think it’s their own idea._

As Eve walked up to the house, content to quietly go along with the whirlwind that was Alex and General Lee discussing her technique rapidly over her head, she saw her mother, arms folded and face awash with disappointment.

Eve lowered her eyes, instinctively ashamed by her defiance of her mother’s wishes (a shooting display wasn’t ladylike in the least), but soon found her resolve and met her mother’s eyes with all of her determination to attain her goal.

Her mother’s disappointment would not dissuade her. This was what she wanted.

Carol Buchanan saw the stubborn set of her daughter’s mien and turned away, biting her lip, unsure if it was tears or sheer frustration that she was holding at bay.

“Mama?” Eliza called from the ballroom. “What is it?”

She brushed a finger under her eyes to catch the gathering tears and prevent them from ruining her makeup before she rejoined her guests. “Nothing, dear,” she replied.

Eliza didn’t believe her, but she allowed her mama the luxury of the lie and didn’t push.

Honestly, Carol was shocked that Eve had managed to keep her ambitions a secret from Eliza at all, let alone for so long. When their youngest daughter had come to Edward begging to be sent off to war, his first stop had been Carol’s study.

Carol was not proud of how she’d reacted to the news that Edward was considering letting their youngest go off to war, nor was she happy with the way Eve had resorted to avoiding her to keep from igniting a confrontation.

She wondered where she’d gone so wrong with her upbringing that Eve felt her only calling was to head off to fight a man’s war on the other end of the world.

“Do you know where all the party guests went, mama?”

“Hm?” said Carol, gathering her thoughts and registering her daughter’s question. “They’re on their way back in now, dear, not to fret.”

“Was that shooting I heard?”

“Oh, yes,” remarked Carol, mind still on other things. “Your Grandmamma cooked up some scheme.”

“Oh dear,” remarked Eliza, well aware of her grandmother’s _schemes_. “Is everyone still alive?”

“I’m certain if they weren’t, we would hear the screams.”

Eliza laughed, and accompanied her mother back inside, pretending she didn’t notice the sorrow that etched itself across her mother’s face. _What have you done now, Eve?_

-

“Women don’t fight in wars for a very good reason; they’re too unpredictable. There’s no place for histrionics in the army. And never mind the distraction to the men –!”

Eve ignored the knot of officers she was passing, even as their voices carried over to her ears. It was all things she’d expected to hear; that women were unsuitable for war. It wasn’t true. She knew she could be just as successful a soldier as any man; she just needed the chance to prove it.

“Women need to stay and protect the home. It’s a man’s place to die for his country so women don’t have to. She should be grateful –“

She kept her head high and kept moving, ignoring the increasingly fervent outcry for her to remain home.

“It’s a proven fact: women are inferior to men in every way. She wouldn’t have the strength to carry her own gear, let alone a wounded comrade.”

“She’d be a danger not only to herself, but to whatever unit unfortunate enough to house her.”

Eve refused to listen to any of this hooey. She was not going to remain behind. Eve had as much right to go fight for her country as any man. God help her, if she couldn’t get into the army properly, she’d buy her way on a passenger ship bound for France or Belgium and join the Nazi resistance however she could. There was no way she could blend in at the Pacific theater or she might’ve tried to steal away on a navy ship and fight the Japs.

She was already trying to achieve the impossible by being the first openly female soldier to be stationed on the front lines.

(There have always been, and will always be, countless women fighting on the front lines. In any given war, numerous women had hidden among the ranks and served as honorably as any man, and no amount of slander would ever convince Eve otherwise.)

What she needed to do was to go into the infantry; the lower the rank the better. It was her only chance of actually seeing combat.

She knew the risks involved. Combat was dangerous anyway, and the infantry especially so. The infantry had earned is name from the Romans, who sent their newest and often youngest troops into battle at the head of their army, allowing the enemy to tire while slaughtering the “infants”.

Being an officer was safer, sure, but there were several obstacles with being a woman jumping directly into command. If she was put over men, they’d never respect her. If she was put over other women, they’d never see combat. “Cushy officer jobs” had the unfortunate side effect of oft times being behind the lines altogether; whereas the infantry was inherently dangerous by virtue of being on the front lines in perpetuity.

No, an officer’s commission like Alex wasn’t an alternative – but inevitably a cheaply disguised secretarial position designed to placate her.

Eve knew that joining a unit bound immediately for combat was also not an option. There was too much to overcome and in too short a time. She would never manage to integrate with the men before shipping out to Japan, which could be dangerous. They would never trust her if she was just thrown in with them.

Her best bet was an experimental unit.

“She’s going to get herself killed. What kind of message will that send to the folks at home?”

“Look at her! There is no time for chivalry in war and boys have needs after all –”

Eve bit her cheek to stop from flushing bright red at the appraising looks the men in that particular clump were sending her way. She quickly glanced at their faces, imprinting them with alacrity gained from terror, and resolved to keep at least half the banquet hall between her and them.

-

“Are you mad?” cried Edward Buchanan faced down by his mother and his child’s godmother. “You want me to send my youngest daughter off to war?”

Madame Buchanan scoffed. “Despite all your bluster, you’ve yet to name a single reason she can’t go.”

“I don't want to be accused of plucking the low bearing fruit, Mama, but I will state the obvious if you insist: she’s a little girl who will get herself killed! What happens when the task of war proves too much for her and she crumbles in the face of the enemy to the detriment of her unit? She is as physically incapable of keeping up with men as all women are.”

“What if she could?” Eleanor asked.

“Could what?” Edward demanded, already a few sentences ahead in his rant, and unsure what point she was addressing.

“Give her a trial period,” Eleanor suggested. “If Evelyn proves herself to be as physically capable as a man, then give her the option of joining permanently.”

“Yes,” Madame Buchanan agreed quickly. “Isn’t basic training required to judge all soldiers on their state of readiness? I fail to see why it works for our young men, but couldn’t work for our Evelyn.”

“Again, she is not a man!”

“Don’t be so obtuse, Edward,” scolded Madame Buchanan. “I was quite capable of defending my home at her age, and my newborn son, just as thousands of women have done for thousands of years.”

Said newborn son quieted, unwilling to provoke his mother further by implying her unfit in some way. Instead he tried a different tactic.

“We’re not being invaded, Mother.”

“Aren’t we?” she demanded. “The news I saw had _Japanese_ planes attacking Pearl Harbor. The world is shrinking, Edward. Soon there won’t be anywhere for our girls to hide.”

Without a comeback, Edward stared at his mother defiantly.

“Start thinking strategically, for God’s sake!” scolded Madame Buchanan, wishing she could just pinch his ear to get him to start thinking again as she could when he was a child. “If Evelyn could prove herself in the army, she could become a symbol for all women. Just because suffrage is politically new, does not mean that it wasn’t a long time in coming. Women need someone who believes in them. Evelyn could be a shining light they could rally behind.”

“Are you trying to imply that women would vote for me if I put my daughter in harm’s way?”

“And why wouldn’t they?” asked Eleanor, reminding them that she’d been listening to them air out their family’s laundry for years. “Why wouldn’t women rally behind a senator who’s fighting for their equality? For a senator who is fighting to give them a choice to fight and die for their home, the same as any man? Already thousands of women are flocking to factories and jobs that they were once considered unfit for because they were women. Fifty percent of this country just became eligible to vote. If you had them all voting behind you…”

Eleanor let the possibilities hang in the air. Edward Buchanan was a shrewd politician, he understood the implications well enough without her having to spell them out further. In fact, she may have been laying it on a bit too thick for him to take the bait. 

“Suppose I get her into a unit, what then, hmm?” he asked.

“I guess that’s up to Evelyn,” his mother replied. “If she fails to meet the physical standards the men accomplish, then she can be sent to a more … conservative position, where she can still help the war effort, but out of the front lines.”

“And if she succeeds?”

“Then you let her go make you proud.”

They left him then, to think and brood and pretend that his mother hadn’t just railroaded him into a decision.

His daughter was going to war.

He poured himself a drink and slugged it back. Straightening, he went back out to rejoin the party. He had to find a fitting unit for his daughter and someone crazy enough to take her, God help him.

-

“The Airborne?” Senator Buchanan queried an hour later around a small table. There was a sham of a card game, a social occupation for each player’s hands rather than a game that anyone was invested in, between himself and the rest of the gathered group which included the women who’d just harangued him, the President, and the top generals in attendance. 

“Yes, sir,” said General Bill Lee. “It’s a new kind of warfare. The idea is to fly troops in behind the enemy lines. With proper training –”

“And you support this, Franklin?” interrupted the senator. Edward spoke to the President of the United States with a candidness that their long friendship allowed.

“I believe the idea has a lot of merit,” answered the President with a cowing look for his friend. Just because he _could_ be candid with the President – particularly in private – did not mean that it was wise to be cavalier in the company of generals who looked to the man, both men for that matter, for decisive independent leadership.

Edward visibly took a deep breath and calmed himself. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he finally allowed, folding a hand he could have won in placation. “It has been a trying day. You were saying?”

General Lee continued to elaborate on his wild idea for modern warfare. All Edward could imagine was his daughter freefalling from thousands of feet in the air towards the unforgiving ground.

He paled and made his excuses, abandoning the pretense of a game. General Lee allowed him to slip away easily enough, content to delve into further detail with Madame Buchanan, the Roosevelt’s, and his peers.

Edward tried to walk away, only to be joined by the President a moment later.

“I could do with a drink,” suggested Roosevelt.

Edward could only agree. He allowed the President to lean on him as they retired to his study where his favorite bottle of scotch was calling his name. They walked slowly in difference to the agony the President suffered from walking in stiff braces. The hallway passed by in a blur of single-mindedness. It felt like he’d blinked and been magically transported in front of the globe that contained his scotch.

Pouring both of them a healthy two fingers he offered one to Roosevelt. The President had seated himself on the couch with noticeable relief and took the crystal tumbler before leaning back and studing his friend.

“You don’t want her to go.”

Edward sighed and took a gulp from his scotch, barely grimacing as the burn raced for his stomach. “Does any parent want their child to go to war?”

Roosevelt sighed and took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “This is why I spent so long trying to avoid this war. After the Great War, a whole generation was wiped out. Who knows what kind of catastrophic casualties we’ll see this time?”

“Do you think this Airborne scheme of yours will work?”

“I’m willing to give anything a try,” admitted Roosevelt. “Anything that will help us win this war, the sooner the better.”

Edward sighed. “She wants to go.”

“She seems quite adamant,” commented Roosevelt.

“Adamant?” scoffed Edward. “Determined. Spitting image of her grandmother, and just as stubborn. She’s decided to go to the front, and if we don’t put her in a regiment, I fear she’ll end up in one of those resistance movements. At least in the army she’ll get some decent training.”

“So, you think she can succeed?”

“I think she’ll die trying.”

Silence hung between them as the horrific reality of that phrase permeated into both of their minds.

“That is my fear as well,” confided Roosevelt.

Edward moved to the window. The moonlight bathed the grounds in silver.

“But I’m still willing to let Alexander fight and possibly die for his country.” Edward sighed, “I’m being hypocritical, aren’t I?”

“You love your daughter. There is nothing a parent wouldn’t do for his child.”

“That’s why I have to let her go,” he said, realizing that he meant it.

“Alright,” agreed Franklin. “Let’s see how we can go about this, then.”

-

“You cannot be serious, Edward!”

Senator Buchanan stared balefully at his wife. He’d made up his mind, now he had the nearly impossible task of convincing Carol. He’d waited until the party had ended and they were both getting ready for bed, but now it was time to face the music. “It’s what she wants.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to let her.”

“Denying her permission isn’t going to protect her. She’ll just find another way. You know she will. I found this yesterday.” He pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and gave it to his wife gravely.

Carol’s hands trembled as she took the receipt for passage to France in Eve’s name, scheduled to depart at the end of the month.

“Where did she get this?” Carol asked as she sank into the couch next to him, trying to draw in some of his strength.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Carol stared at the ticket for a long moment. “What are we going to do, Edward?” She finally said, her voice vulnerable in a way he’d never heard before. “She’s my baby.”

Edward pulled his wife into his side, tucking her into his chest as he turned the problem over in his mind.

“What if,” he began, “we send her through basic training?”

Carol pushed away from him and stood up, glaring down at him with a fury holding all the passion he’d married her for.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Just hear me out, Carol. There are several experimental programs going on. There’s one called the Airborne. The general in charge has already expressed an interest in having her in one of their units. The program is going to be very difficult to complete, and those who don’t finish wash out into other branches of the military, but Evelyn… what if Evelyn would wash out entirely? If she fails to meet the requirements for the male soldiers, then she gives up on this nonsense and finds another way to help the war effort. A more conservative way.”

“And you’re sure she won’t make it through training?” demanded Carol, arms folded across her chest.

“As sure as I can be,” replied Edward. “Although the training is not without danger, it might be enough to scare her out of this whole soldiering notion.”

He let Carol digest this in silence, offering no further input.

“I’m angry,” Carol confided. “And I’m scared. What will I do if she dies? With Alex, I always knew that he might follow you into the military but I never thought… Evelyn…

“I know we’re setting her up for failure, but…” Carol sat back down, and let Edward comfort her.

“I know darling,” he said, pulling her close and rubbing her arm. “I know.”

-

The next morning, the family arrived home after dropping Alex off at the train station. Evelyn watched her mother go into the house and tried not to cry. Her mother hadn't spoken a single word to her all day. There was no secret why, and Evelyn tried not to be hurt at her mother’s blatant disapproval.

Eliza touched her arm in support as she walked by, but Eve shrugged it off, watching as her sister glided into the house. Her sister had made her feelings clear: Eliza was on their mother’s side, just like she always was.

Eve tried to pretend she didn’t care, that the isolation was just a small price to pay if she was going to be able to become the first woman in American history to be openly on the front lines.

Nonetheless, she missed her brother fiercely already, and her mother and sister’s distance made her heart ache.

Eve understood her parents worry and fears. Anything could happen in combat and she was their little girl. The number of polite society rules she was going to break was astronomical on that count alone. She was going to have to learn to eat, sleep, and generally live her life in front of the men in her unit.

But she wouldn’t change her mind. This was what she wanted. She wanted to help by doing something she was good at. She was good at shooting and tactics. Anyone with eyes could see that pointed towards soldiering. She was not going to live her life in a cage, withering away until all chance of glory had passed her by.

She was not going to sit idly while men died for their country. She could fight and she would do no less than any of them, even if that meant dying herself.

“Evelyn,” her father said, startling her. “Come take a walk with me?”

Bewildered, Eve nodded and joined her father as he stepped across the lawn.

The sun was bright in the morning sky, but the spring wind was bitterly cold as it snuck into her coat.

Neither of them spoke. Eve waited for her father to start the conversation, too wary of saying the wrong thing and angering him. Again.

“I know that you’ve wanted to join the army for a long time now,” he said, finally breaking the silence. Eve’s mounting anxiety threatened to choke her. “And by all rights, I shouldn't let you go.”

Eve opened her mouth to argue. He cut her off before she managed to draw enough breath to start persuading him.

“No, let me speak,” he said, and then remained infuriatingly silent as he gathered his thoughts. “Your mother and I love you very much. She does not want you to go. I do not want you to go.”

“But you let Alex go!” argued Eve, forgetting that she’d tacitly agreed to let him speak.

He glared at her, in the way fathers do, and she fell silent, face set in an apology. He nodded and continued. “Your brother is a young man and bound by law to do his duty for his country. If he had not enlisted, the draft would have called upon him sooner or later. Alex going to war does not justify your wish to join him.

“Regardless,” continued Edward, “I have decided that if this is what you really want –”

Eve flung herself into her father’s arms, excitement and exhilaration melding so tightly together in her that she was completely overcome.

He hugged her back just as fiercely, savoring the embrace.

Eve couldn’t stop smiling, beaming into her father’s face even as he pulled away.

“Now listen, alright?” he said, gripping her shoulders tightly to convey the severity of what he was trying to tell her. “There are a few conditions.”

Eve nodded, not particularly caring what they were because she was still so blissfully excited.

“You’ll join the unit I’ve selected for you. The Airborne is an entirely new concept. The general in command of the unit was at your demonstration last night,” he gave her a wry look and she bowed her head sheepishly. Sure, the demonstration hadn’t exactly been her idea, but she’d certainly had a hand in it. “He was impressed enough to offer you a chance.

“If you fail to meet the physical requirements for the unit, you will be washed out and sent home. There will be no second chance or do-over, no transfer to another unit. If you can’t keep up, you will be sent home, understand?”

Eve nodded again, unbothered, and still beaming. She could do this.

“Are you still sure it’s what you really want?” Eve opened her mouth to answer, but he held up a hand. “No, let me finish. You realize that it’s going to be hard, maybe impossible? They’ll make it tougher on you to prove that you’re not fit, just because you’re a woman.”

“I’m ready to prove them wrong,” said she, showing the stubbornness that ran in the women of his family.

He pulled her into a hug and kissed the crown of her head. “I know you are. Your train leaves for Georgia tomorrow morning. So we’d best head back so you can pack.”

Eve smiled and nodded, already making a list of things she wanted to pack to take along with her.

“I don’t think the army is ready for you, darling, but I know you’ll make me proud. Whether or not you succeed, you’ve already done so by being my daughter.”

Eve buried her face into her father’s chest as the urge to cry overtook her; she fought it back with an unsteady sigh. “Thank you, Papa.”

He kissed her head again and let her go, laughing with her as she wiped away tears of joy.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Eve said instantly.

“Promise me you’ll really think about this tonight? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Eve warned.

He sighed in resignation. “Just promise me you’ll think on it?”

Eve nodded to appease him, not intending to do any such thing. She’d spent almost a year weighing her options before enlisting Grandmamma’s help in persuading her parents. She’d wanted to be absolutely sure about her decision to join the army, about possibly – probably –dying for her country a thousand miles from home. 

Eve didn’t need to reconsider. She’d made her choice.

She was going to war.

He took her arm and escorted her back to the house, offering his advice for what she would need to take along.

-

The next morning at breakfast, bag packed and waiting for her in the foyer, Eve informed her parents and Eliza that her decision had not changed. She understood what she was about to walk into and was ready for it. Evelyn Buchanan was ready to become a soldier.

The family’s second drive to the train station was just as chilly as the first, but this time Eve was too excited to care.

She exchanged embraces with her father and sister easily, and finally, when faced with her mother and the inevitability of leaving her for years, possibly forever, on a sour note without even saying goodbye eased the tight grip of her pride. Eve hugged her mother with all the fierceness she had as the strong woman wept into her hair.

The train’s whistle blew, ready to depart.

Carol pulled away from Eve with a sob and turned immediately into Edward’s comforting arms.

Eliza gave Eve another hug. “Promise me you’ll write.”

“I promise,” said Eve assuredly. “Every day, if I can manage it.”

“Good,” said Eliza, breathing shakily as she held back the tears. “I’m going to miss you, little sister. Please don’t get yourself killed.”

Eve laughed. “I’ll be back before you know it, ‘Liza. Don’t fret.”

“Write if you need anything,” instructed Edward.

“I will, Papa.”

“We love you,” said her mother.

“I love you, too,” she said, and got on the train.

She waved to her family from the window until the train pulled out from the station and she could no longer see them.

For the first time, nerves fluttered in her stomach as she headed off, ready for an adventure.

-End Chapter-


	2. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve convinces her family - and a room full of generals - to give her a shot. 
> 
> "Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men." - Joseph Conrad
> 
> Now: Eve arrives at Camp Toccoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful: Aryam150, Anonymous1O1, Atman, FandomlyCroft, Laura 001, and Minerva300.

-Chapter 2-

When Eve stepped off the train in Toccoa, Georgia, she was not expecting the military escort holding a white paper with her name on it. Despite there being no mention of an escort of any kind, Eve mustered her confidence and strode towards the soldier with a purpose.

“I’m Evelyn Buchanan.”

He stared at her, ogling, and Eve found it difficult to stop from shifting uncomfortably.

She hadn’t worn a uniform; hadn’t been assigned one yet. Instead she’d chosen a modest blouse, without shoulder pads, and trousers. She’d received many a strange stare; women were supposed to be perfectly coifed, especially women who had first-class train tickets. Evelyn had even forgone makeup this morning and tied her hair up in a tight braided knot at the back of her head to appear more masculine. It was as close to a soldier as she could get in civilian life.

It appeared that her efforts had all been in vain. Eve tried her best to meet his eyes emotionlessly as he gave her another once over.

His bright yellow hair curled into tufts atop his head; his face was pale considering they were so far south. He looked like he was younger than her. His uniform was neatly pressed, and his shoes still shined with their black polish despite the red dust already clinging to Eve’s.

She coughed and shifted her single bag to her left hand. In it was what little she’d deemed essential enough to bring from home. Nothing against the regulations that her father had warned her about, but spare brassieres and pads for her monthly cycle were necessities she was unlikely to find on base, and if what her father told her was correct, leaving base was a privilege she wouldn’t get to have for quite a while.

The man finally seemed to remember himself and started babbling nervously. “Gosh you’re pretty,” he said. “I mean – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Can we start over? Hello there, miss. My name’s Lorraine, er, Gerald Lorraine. It’s nice to meet you. I’m here to escort you to base.”

She smiled at him, relieved. He seemed like just another of Alex’s friends, young and eager to be of use, harmless, like a puppy.

“Pleasure’s mine,” she said, deeming him harmless enough.

“Oh, can I take your bag?”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

“Oh,” he said, almost seeming putout and then fidgeting around trying to find some alternative for his hands. “Um, oh! The jeep’s this way.”

Eve smiled and fell into step with Lorraine, amused. He kind of reminded her of a puppy, all too big paws and eager affection.

The jeep wasn’t hard to find. Lorraine waited for her to get in the passenger side, somehow managing to swipe her luggage while she wasn’t paying attention and set it gently on the back seat.

The jeep roared to life and jerked forward along the road. There were no doors, no roof on the jeep. Within a few moments of turning onto the road, one of the tires snagged in a pothole and nearly popped Eve out of the jeep and onto the pavement. She gripped the windshield's frame for the rest of the ride, so she wouldn't bounce out.

“It’s just a few miles up the main road here,” explained Lorraine, trying not to laugh at her as he maneuvered them out of town. “When we get there, Colonel Sink – he’s the regimental commander, kind of a hard ass, but fair – anyway, he wants to debrief you before you begin your training, answer any questions you have, and all that.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

“If you don’t mind me askin’, miss, why’d you decide to join the Airborne?”

“It was this, or nothing.”

“Really?” said Lorraine shooting a look at her.

Eve hummed. “There are other reasons. Mostly, that the 506 is merit based, and I wanted to be with the best.”

He blushed at the implied compliment and then pushed forward. “It’s just, didn’t you want to do something else? Go work in a factory or join the WAC or something? Jumping out of planes is dangerous business.”

Not sure she shouldn’t be offended, Eve replied. “I wanted to fight, not make soup.”

“Well, then why not enlist as an officer?”

Eve shifted, uncomfortable. Her father had offered her a commission in the army, but Eve had seen the easy path for an officer to being buried behind the line. “I wanted to fight, not push papers, or be a nurse, or drive a jeep,” – here Lorraine blushed, “I don’t want special treatment because I’m a woman or the rumors that would come with a rank I didn’t earn. I just want to fight for my country. Isn’t that why you joined?”

“To be honest, ma’am, I joined the paratroopers for the extra fifty dollars.” That startled a laugh from her. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

Eve nodded and stared out the window as they passed the sign proclaiming their arrival. Lorraine slowed down and fell silent as he concentrated on not hitting any of the many pedestrians in the road. Some of them were in uniform, some in shorts and t-shirts running, all of them young men with military haircuts.

The jeep pulled to a stop outside of a building with HQ stenciled on the sign out front. Eve got out, not waiting for Lorraine to walk around and open the door for her. “For what it’s worth, miss,” he said, grabbing her luggage before she could. “Good luck.

She smiled at him and followed him into the building.

He led her through a maze of hallways. She tried to memorize the route, but ultimately failed as she was also desperately trying not to shake from nerves. Her hands were sweaty and she wished she had something to hold onto. Lorraine stopped outside a door that read “Colonel Robert F. Sink,” and put her bags down.

“Ready?” he asked.

Eve nodded.

The man knocked sharply, and a gruff voice answered from within the room, “Yes?”

Lorraine opened the door. “Private Buchanan reporting for training, sir,” he announced as he walked into the room.

Eve took a deep breath and followed him in. The room was small and cramped. A single window on the left wall overlooked the training fields where men in sharp rows preformed jumping-jacks. Behind the desk that dominated the room, there was a man dressed in olive drabs and a paratrooper’s leather jacket. He had dark hair and a stern mustache. She could read discipline in each line of his form as he opened up a paper she recognized as a letter from her godfather – the White House letterhead showing through the thin paper in the beaming sunlight. He left her standing there, demonstrating that he was in charge and that he could have her stand there all day. She let him demonstrate, knowing that if she let him know it bothered her, it would be her first step along the path to being drummed out. 

When he finished with the first letter, he picked up a second. She could see her family crest imprinted in the reverse through this much thicker paper and realized that he must be reading a letter from her father.

After the longest minute of her life, he set down the second letter. “Miss Buchanan, of course,” he said. He stood from behind his mammoth oak desk, rounding it to shake her hand. She gripped his hand, perhaps a little too tightly, but this was no time for a lady’s gentle handshake. She needed to portray every bit of harshness that she could so he would believe that she could survive what she was about to undertake. His eyes were kind as he smiled at her, which she hadn’t really expected.

“Good to meet you, miss,” he said, releasing her hand. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how clammy it was. “Lorraine, shut the door on your way out.”

Lorraine nodded before turning with a military precision she admired, and saluted. He closed the door with a quiet snick that might as well have been a gunshot.

“Please,” said Sink. “Have a seat, miss.” He walked her over to his desk and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down gracefully, as she had been taught. “Would you care for a beverage? Tea or coffee?"

“I’m fine, sir,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.” 

His overly friendly attitude made her wary. She wasn’t sure what kind of game he was playing. Surely he didn’t offer beverages to every guest in his office. It was not something he would have done for any of his other soldiers and she resented him for thinking that she required such manners from him. He was supposed to be her commander. He needed to see her as just another one of his soldiers. However, her position within this unit was still at his discretion, and it was a knife’s blade line as it was. She kept her peace. If it became an issue later, she would address it then. Technically, she wasn’t even a soldier yet.

“Let me be perfectly honest, something like this has never been tried before for a damn good reason. Women just aren’t as strong or mentally tough as men are. But I’ve been given an order to be fair to you, and by God fair is what you’re going to get.”

He looked her over. “Evelyn, is it?” She nodded, as though he hadn’t already said her name once. “You understand that you are here on sufferance? You have a month in which to prove that you can keep up with the men. If you do not satisfy either myself or any of your instructors, you will go home. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, struggling to hide her resentment. Long practice as a politician’s daughter kept her face serene as she inwardly seethed. They promised a fair trial. A month was hardly enough time to gauge her preparedness for war, especially since the standard for basic training was a minimum of eight months. It was ludicrous. She would never meet the standard in only a month. It wasn’t physically possible. But she couldn’t even argue. Instead, she just had to sit here and take it.

“Now, having said that, are you sure you want to join the Airborne?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, meeting his eyes and hoping that she was conveying every ounce of her determination through her gaze.

“The Army has done something entirely new here; rather than train as individuals and then filter into units later, the paratroopers train as a unit and will be fighting with that unit throughout the duration of the war. Hence it being the ideal place for one such as yourself. Your unit can become like a family for you and if you survive the training, they’ll take care of you. Easy Company, the unit you’ll eventually be joining, already has one of the highest dropout rates in the entire military. That means they have a vacancy for latecomers. They are the elite. You will rise to their standards or you will washout like the other men who failed. And those standards are the highest you’ll find anywhere in the armed forces. This is an all-volunteer unit, so you’re entitled to drop out at any point you wish.

“When your month of probation has ended, you will undergo evaluation from both myself and General Lee to prove that you’ve met the standard the men are at. If you fail that evaluation, you will leave my base. If you pass, you’ll join the men in training. If, by some miracle of God, you survive training and earn your jump wings, you will be treated like any other soldier. That means that you’ll sleep, eat and shit with the men in your unit, all day every day as long as we are in combat, so you’d best get used to the idea. There will be no time in a warzone for you to have your own room, so enjoy it while you can.”

Eve frowned. Wasn’t she going to join the men immediately? Why on earth would she need her own bathroom? They had stalls didn’t they? How was she ever going to integrate and be treated the same if they were already treating her like an outsider.

“If you make it,” continued Sink, “and you meet standard, I personally guarantee that you will be treated the same as any other man in your unit.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. If she could survive training, she was in. That was fair. That was like anyone else.

“Now, in the meantime, we’re still coming to terms with the exact protocols for your integration with the men.”

“Sir,” she interrupted sensing his gaze lingering on her hair. “The barber was my next stop, sir. I would have it to regulations only –“

“Don’t worry about it. As long as it’s out of your eyes and off your collar, that’s all I’m going to ask.”

She inhaled sharply, startled. That was not a response she’d expected. “Sir, I’m not looking for any special treatment.”

“We’re not trying to deny your sex, Private,” he said, addressing her as a rank for the first time. “You’ll have a separate bed and a separate bathroom. If you have any special medical needs, report to the infirmary. If your classmates or a superior officer acts in a harassing or otherwise unbecoming manner, you are to inform me immediately, so I can deal with it immediately. It may not always run smooth but we’re trying to make this as painless as possible, for everybody.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, “but I expect a certain amount of pain." 

That made him laugh, and for a minute, she saw the jovial man he must be at home. She hadn’t meant to say that. Her nerves had been on edge for so long that her mouth ran away with her.

“I like you, Private,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ll make a good soldier if you have that kind of spine.” A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Sink called.   

A tall, dark haired man entered the room. He had a large nose and dark eyes that gave her a polite acknowledgment. “Ah, Lieutenant Sobel,” said Sink, waving the man into the room to sit in the other chair. He did not get up to pull it out for the man, she noticed. Nor did he offer him drinks as they set right down to business. “This is Evelyn Buchanan, our newest paratrooper.”

Sobel’s eyes roved over her. She met his eyes squarely. “Private,” he said, offering her a hand to shake. She noticed that his nails were clean despite the supposedly grueling nature of training.

“Sir,” she replied, voice as firm as her grip when she shook his hand. She tried not to let her nerves break his fingers. Sobel did not extend the same courtesy. Eve flexed her fingers subtly when they were returned to her, out of sight from Sink.

“Lieutenant Sobel here,” said Sink, indicating Sobel with a weathered hand, “will oversee your probation and eventual entry to his unit. His Company, his standard.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, glancing back at Sobel with newfound curiosity.

“Then you are dismissed, private. Settle your gear in your billet. Have Lorraine show you the way. Dinner will be served in the mess hall at 1800 hours. Report to the drill field at 0530 tomorrow morning for training with Lieutenant Sobel.”

“Sir,” she gave him a salute she’d practiced over and over again in the mirror until she’d perfected it. He looked surprised, but grudgingly pleased. She about-faced and marched quickly from the room, grabbing her bag on the way out. She nodded to Lorraine who was waiting for her and left the door and the conversation behind her.

She closed the door behind her.

Lieutenant Sobel’s waited for a moment, to make sure the woman was well out of hearing range to protest. “Sir, a woman? She’ll get everyone in her unit slaughtered, including herself.”

“Now, Herbert,” chided Sink, a gentle tone in his voice, but a cunning spark in his eye. “I believe if you successfully integrate a woman into your unit, get her up to your exacting standards, well, that would make you one of the finest commanders in the entire Army.”

“But, sir, there’s no way she’ll ever reach the standard that the men have.”

“If she can’t hack it, then she’s out, but it had better be fair. I don’t want some bureaucrat coming in and complaining that we didn’t give her a fair chance. We’re going to let her try. The Commander in Chief himself wants her in this unit and by God that’s what we’re going to do.”

He paused, looking over the man who had the highest dropout rate in the entire 506. Lieutenant Sobel was tough on the men, but he got some damn fine results.

“I won’t lie, Herbert, it’ll be a challenge. It would be a great accomplishment, a mark of your effectiveness as a combat training officer, if you can whip even a girl into shape. General Lee and I will both oversee her progress and evaluate her after her probation. If she makes the grade, it’ll be one hell of an achievement. I personally can’t think of a better man for the job than you.”

Sobel thought it over. “I understand, sir.” He stood. “I’ll make sure she meets that standard.”

“Good man, Lieutenant. I knew I could count on you.”

-

Eve endured wolf whistles and catcalls as she followed Lorraine up the main road for the base.

“Who’s the broad?” someone asked openly ogling her bum as she passed him.

“I don’t have any idea, but I saw her first!” said the man he was standing with.

In any other environment or situation she might have felt flattered but she wasn’t here to be some Private’s sweetheart, she was here to serve her country. She carved her face from stone and kept moving, ignoring their attempts to garner her attention. She did her best to ignore the two men, still calling out for her attention though she hadn’t acknowledged them in any way, and the many other strikingly similar comments thrown her way as Lorraine led the way to her assigned cabin.

“We’ve just finished building the camp,” Lorraine informed her with a proud smile. “Last month you’d have been in a pup tent.”

Eve made some hum of agreement and tried to keep her head from swiveling around like a gawker. There were so many different groups, all training in different ways. Some were climbing a twenty-foot log wall, others were wading through some sort of hopscotch course made of rope tied to stakes at ankle height, while still more were amidst hand-to-hand combat training. Then there was the random smattering of men mingling about or playing sports like basketball, and a bizarre form of kickball. She thought they’d have gotten enough with training, but apparently they were still trying to out alpha dog each other and prove they were the best and meanest of the group.

Eve couldn’t wait to try it all for herself, to see how she faired against the boys, before remembering that it would be a long time before she would get to compare herself against them.

“Well, this is it!” announced Lorraine.

Eve barely kept herself from running into the kid’s back. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. The cabin was the same size as the others, with two square windows on either side of the door. The thing was raised a few steps off the ground on stilts, and Eve wondered if it flooded around here.

“Do you want me to show you the inside?” Lorraine asked, solicitous.

“No, thanks,” she replied. She rather thought it would be more appropriate, for this first month of probation at least, that no one other than herself entered her cabin. She wouldn’t want to unknowingly foster some kind of rumor.

Lorraine looked put out again, but recovered quickly. “Okay, then. If you need someone to show you around, let me know?”

“I will,” said Eve, with no intention of doing so. She’d much rather explore and get to know the camp on her own terms.

“Well, then, I’ll let you get settled. It was a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“Likewise,” she said, and smiled at him as he ambled off back towards headquarters.

Taking a deep breath and clenching her hand tightly around the handle of her suitcase, she walked up the stairs and opened the door to her new, temporary home.

The cabin was clearly being used for storage. Several empty bed frames littered the room, some overturned, and some piled atop one another in a random assemblage of spare parts. A little investigation revealed a washroom in the back, with a spigot she assumed was meant for showering, and a small sink and toilet. She was so grateful for the privacy it offered, she was willing to overlook how obviously filthy and unkempt it was. Nothing a little work wouldn’t cure if she could find the right tools.

She wondered if this was a billet that had been emptied of volunteers after they’d all dropped out, but she shoved the depressing thought to the side. She was just going to have to prove to herself and everyone else that she was more capable than those washouts. She could do it, she hoped. The road was going to be long and hard, but at least everyone else had also started out as civilians. It would be different if she’d been trying to fit in with a unit of experienced soldiers. Hopefully, because they were volunteers like her, they’d be more likely to accept her as one of them. 

There was only one bed frame with a mattress, situated just to the right of the door. On it, she found her gear. Placed prominently were her dog tags. She fingered the embossed metal reverently before slipping them over her head. They settled between her breasts and brushed the top of her stomach. She tucked them out of sight, under her shirt, feeling for the first time like she had finally made it.

Also on her bed were a folded set of olive drabs and PT gear. The PT shirt had a parachute on it. The shorts were black and only hit her upper thigh. That was a little worrying. She’d never worn something so short other than a bathing suit. She shoved the notion of embarrassment out of her mind.

 _It is what it is,_ she thought. They certainly weren’t going to change the uniform for the sake of her ridiculous notion of modesty. If she wanted to be treated like a boy, this was as good a place as any to act like it.

There were a lot of other supplies she wasn’t really sure what to do with, but mainly, she wasn’t sure how on earth all these things were supposed to fit on one person. She picked up a harness made up of six different straps including a loop of several pouches, trying to puzzle it out. She tried to picture Lorraine, but he hadn't been wearing anything but a uniform, not even a helmet, which had a weird fabric net made of yet more straps of fabric, which might be meant to go on the inside and fasten to it in some manner. 

She played with it for a while, trying things on and trying to get them to lie flat in some kind of comfortable manner. In some cases, like that of the six strapped harness, she gave up on ever being comfortable in it. Her anatomy wasn’t meant for flat straps. For once, she was grateful that she didn’t have Eliza’s curves.

Despite spending the better part of the afternoon playing with her new supplies, and trying to learn all the secrets to it, there were some things she’d have to find someone to ask about and endure the embarrassment of not even knowing how she was supposed to dress herself.

Eve tried not to despair that she was going to be completely behind in this area on top of everything else.

 _Well,_ she thought, _there’s nothing I can do about it right now._ She changed into her olive drabs, assuming that was standard wear while not in PT based on the men she’d seen outside, and unpacked the rest of her stuff neatly into the footlocker at the base of her bed.

She took the time to lace up her boots, tightening the laces so the leather was snug to her skin. She winced as the laces bit into her hands. The boots themselves were heavy, obviously made for hard use. Eve was pleased that they fit her though.

When she finally ventured out from her rack, she was a little surprised to see the sun going down. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been holed up in her cabin. The camp was silent, the obstacle course and the training grounds were deserted. The contrast from the bustling camp of this afternoon to this ghost town was eerie, but Eve decided to take advantage of it while she could to explore and maybe find out where the heck everyone else had gone.

The air was crisp for early summer, and Eve was grateful for her long sleeves as the wind tried to burrow into her clothes.

She strode between the cabins trying to imprint the layout and keep her own cabin’s location fixed in her mind as a reference point.

It didn’t take long for her to hear the faint cacophony off in the distance. Following the noise to its source, she stumbled on what she assumed was the mess hall. The smell of food drifted into her nose and left her stomach rumbling, reminding her that the last time she’d eaten was breakfast. 

Without thought, she pushed open the door. 

Immediately, the hall fell silent as she became the center of attention. Every eye was on her, judging her, weighing her worth, her value as a soldier, and finding her wanting. The scent of butter and grease, rationed so carefully even in a senator’s house, overwhelmed her nose for a moment with their pungency. The stench of salty sweat and a lack of deodorant from the men hit her next.

Her appetite vanished.

She knew immediately they were all scrutinizing her, had been talking about her, but she couldn’t turn back now. Couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

She walked forward, deeper into the lion’s den with a forcefully bland face to hide her nerves.

As she moved deeper, a wave of hushed conversation began in her wake.

“Check this out fellas! Dame thinks she’s a soldier!”

This drew a cacophony of laughter.

Quickly, the men grew bolder. There were some whistles of appreciation and much leering as her OD’s did little to disguise her slight figure.

She kept her face neutral with every scrap of will she possessed. She’d known this wouldn’t be easy.

Ignoring them as best she could, becoming deaf to the remarks of her being some kind of whore who slept her way into the army, Eve kept moving.

She refused to let this get to her, refused to bow her head as though she was ashamed of herself, of her gender.

Her head straight forward she got in to the chow line. It was still teeming with soldiers on their second or third helping. Several of the cooks sneered at her, deliberately missing her plate as they dumped spoonfuls of what amounted to food in her general direction. Some of it stained her brand new ODs. She met their laughing eyes with ice-cold rage, but said nothing, moving down the line.

When she finally had a tray, half drenched with greasy sauce, she turned back to see that the entire canteen had closed ranks. There were no open seats anywhere save an isolated bench corner. She could easily have fit five men in the space left around her.

 _So be it,_ she thought and sat down where they’d obviously designated her spot to be. The last stragglers on her table stood up and left, hammering home that she was unwelcome.

Eve bit her lip and looked on the bright side. At least she had elbow room. 

She ate as quickly as she dared, scooping each morsel into her mouth with as much propriety as she could manage. Just because she was in the army now didn’t mean she had to turn into some kind of barbarian. And she was determined to finish every scrap. She would not run away like some kicked dog just because they didn’t want her here. 

The men, seeing that she was just sitting and eating, seemed content to ignore her. She let her gaze fall into the middle distance stare she used while hunting. She was aware of everything going on around her, and yet she was directly staring at nothing. It allowed her mind to disengage for a while. 

Her fork was halfway to her mouth when someone, accidentally or otherwise, bumped into her hard from behind, sending her face forward into her meal. She literally shook in fury as she picked herself up, dripping with ruined and wasted food. 

She turned, eyes again like ice chips, and faced the man who’d knocked her. He had a sharp face, with dark brown hair and eyes. His breast read _Liebgott_. 

“Whoops, sorry about that, doll,” he said, cruel smile darting around his mouth. 

 _Deliberate then,_ she thought and grabbed her tray, fixing his face in her mind. 

Rather than try again with the line, she turned her tray over to the dishwashers, who accidentally sprayed her with the water they were swishing around. _Or not,_ she thought as his eyes lingered on her, trying to provoke a reaction, as she turned away. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her anger, her hurt, at their poor behavior. 

The men she would, hopefully, eventually, be fighting alongside disliking her so intensely and so immediately something she hadn’t foreseen, and was far more potent than she’d ever imagined. She tried not to glare at the room at large, tried not to be disappointed. It seemed now that her little girl’s dream of immediately being accepted and loved by these men was as unrealistic as unicorns. 

Eve left the dining hall with all the dignity she could, at a steady, easy pace, as though food and soapy suds weren’t dripping onto the wood floor with her every step. She needed to find the laundry and get started getting these stains out before they set. Maybe someone there would be kind enough to have an instruction manual or offer advice on how to put on her full gear kit, she hoped, but even as she thought it, she discarded the hope she felt. 

It made the part of her that desperately wanted acceptance wither as she foresaw the loneliness destined to be her future in the army. 

She had to resign herself to that fact now, lest it sneak up and surprise her later. She didn’t need these men to be her friends. She needed to depend on them in combat. That would start by proving to them that they could depend on her. 

Eve would just have to prove herself to these men the hard way: through perseverance and being too damned good – or stubborn – to wash-out. It would start tomorrow. 

There was a long road ahead of her before she became a certified paratrooper, and it had just gotten longer. 

-End Chapter-


	3. Probation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve arrives at Camp Toccoa. 
> 
> "I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that he didn't trust me so much." - Mother Teresa
> 
> Now: Eve's training begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful Beta's: Laura001, Anonymous1O1, Atman, Aryam150, FandomlyCroft, and Minerva300.

-Chapter 3-

Private Evelyn Buchanan tried not to shift and fidget as she stood at attention for what was closing in on the second hour in a row, waiting for her instructor. She'd been told to meet him on this field at 0530 and stand at attention until he arrived.

She shifted her weight again, easing off first her aching right foot, then her left. Her new boots were biting into her feet. It felt like they were sandpaper lined instead of wool, grinding away the flesh around her bones.

A near constant stream of sweat dripped from her hair line, down her nose, and dropping to her chest to disappear in the damp mess under her clothes.

Eve couldn't help but feel a bit silly. Like a little girl standing in daddy's shoes and mommy's overlong dress. It didn't help that it was way too hot to be wearing all this gear. Who in their right mind thought it would be a good idea to train in three layers and fifty pounds of gear in the Georgia summer?

Only a man would think it was a good idea for men to train in the hottest part of the country in three layers of cotton.

She closed her eyes and shifted again, slowly trying, while not moving overly much, to stretch out her cramped muscles. It didn't help that she already felt baggy and tired. Her monthly bleeding had started last night, much to her mortification this morning as she stripped her bed and scrubbed it diligently. The whole thing was two weeks early, and Eve attributed it to stress more than anything. But the cloths used to stop her monthly bleeding from humiliating her did nothing to help her feel good about herself.

More infuriating than standing here, baking in the rising sun for hours with nothing to do, was that she had a clear view of other company’s training on the obstacle course.

They weren't her company – Easy Company was in lessons at the moment – but these men already looked like fighting men, like soldiers. Eve just looked silly, standing here alone, waiting for no one.

"You are standing at the position of attention!" barked a voice from behind her. Eve nearly leapt in surprise. She would have, but her muscles were too stiff and sore from standing still for so long.

Sobel had finally arrived, and he was furious.

Eve's entire attention honed in on the raging man, momentarily forgetting her aching body.

"Name?" he demanded, snarling.

Eve swallowed and tried to clear her parched throat enough to speak through her chapped lips. "Buchanan, Evelyn, Sir."

He looked her over, sneering his disapproval and tugging her equipment out for his inspection with a meticulously clean hand.

"What is this?" he asked, a mean look in his eye.

Eve stared at the bayonet he held with trepidation, unsure what to answer, or how she'd already managed to get herself in trouble.

"I asked a question, Private," he hissed. "What is this?"

"A bayonet, sir?" she asked, unsure.

"That's incorrect, Private. This is property of the United States Army. Property which you have failed to keep properly maintained! This blunted piece of shit isn't worth being called a bayonet. Is your whet stone malfunctioning? Were you too tired this morning to sharpen it?

"DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY, RIGHT NOW!"

Eve dropped, and tried to manage pushups in fifty pounds of gear and through twenty pounds of sweat. She tried to breathe through the pain, and bit her lip as she forced her quivering arms up and down, trying to keep her pack from slipping off her shoulders.

"YOU'RE NOT COUNTING, SOLDIER!"

"O-one," she said, knowing better than to guess what number she was on.

"I can't hear you!"

"ONE!" she screamed.

"Faster!"

"Two! Three," she grunted as she pushed herself up and tried not to fall back to the ground.

"You might look like a soldier, but you've got a long way to go before you prove you belong here!"

Eve bit her lip and kept going, focusing all her will into just doing one more, and then another after that.

She lost count a few times, and Sobel made her start over from the beginning. She guessed she'd done maybe thirty pushups when her shaking arms could not manage to push her body up for another one. Not even if he'd put a gun to her head would she have been able to do one more.

"On your feet!" he barked.

Eve scrambled up, a messy cacophony of colliding equipment as it rearranged. She tried not to grimace where he could see, but the condescending smile he gave her bedraggled form let her know she'd failed.

She wiped her hands, slick with red dirt turned to mud by her sweat, onto her pant legs.

"What is this, Private, dirty ODs?"

Eve glanced down and winced at the mess she'd made.

"Ten more!"

Eve dropped down and did ten more, too exhausted to argue at this point. It took her nearly three times as long to finish the set as it had the first ten she'd completed.

When she stood, he gave her a narrow eyed look, waiting for her to wipe her hands again. She resumed standing at attention and tried not to think about how much her hands itched.

"Because of your numerous infractions," said Sobel once she'd stopped heaving for breath, "your weekend pass is revoked. We're running up Currahee, Private. Three miles up, three miles down!"

Eve tried not to whimper and followed Sobel as he took off, doing her best to keep up with the man, who was running faster than she'd thought him capable of, which made it all the harder to keep up with him loaded down as she was with all her kit. 

When they finally reached the base of the mountain, Sobel pulled a stopwatch from his pocket. 

"Get going," he announced, clicking the button. 

Eve hitched her pack higher on her shoulders and lurched forward, already exhausted from her morning run.

It was impossible to run the whole stretch. The hill was steep; the gravel littered dirt road crumbled from beneath her feet with each step. She walked when she couldn't jog, jogged when she couldn't run, and cried when she couldn't do anything more than stand and breathe.

Somehow, she made it to the top. It came down to pure stubborn tenacity. She kept going even when she wanted to give up and just let herself roll back down the hill so she wouldn't have to walk back down.

It was Alex's voice in her ear that made her finish, that kept her from folding into a ball or just sitting down to quit.

_"No one is going to take a girl to war!"_

 She would not let him be right.

She was going to finish even if she died trying.

When she hit the top, she was practically on her hands and knees. She touched the stone, and looked down on the valley below, on camp Toccoa and all the very small soldiers below and laughed – with a touch of hysteria – before all but tumbling back down.

It took an embarrassingly long time. She passed another company running up the hill and tried to keep out of their way. Though the officers kept their men on the other side of the road, the jeering laughter at her wrung out appearance could not be silenced, and the officers didn't even try.

Eve acknowledged two things as she stumbled back to the bottom and met Sobel's judgment, just enduring the screaming anger he heaped on her without comment or protest. This was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever done, and that people should be careful what they wish for.

-

Every morning, Evelyn woke up and was ready and waiting on the field by 0530.

If Sobel was the one training her for the day, the start time varied due to his propensity to arrive anywhere from exactly on time, to leaving her to wait for hours. When he did arrive, he started by going through her gear. Despite the hours she spent meticulously going over each piece of equipment to make sure it was in perfect shape, he always found and pointed out several infractions.

Evelyn learned to simply save time and answer: "No excuse, sir," for each one.

"You will drop and give me ten pushups for each infraction," he would say. On one particularly hot day he only found one, but the next day he found six. So, she dropped. He watched her down his long pointed nose. She was fine through the first twenty, was sweating by thirty, trembling by forty, and positively shaking by sixty, but she finished. She stood back up, consciously remembering not to wipe her palms on her trousers, never forgetting the lesson she'd learned that first day. 

When they'd finished the bizarre ritual of equipment check, Sobel took Eve on a morning run, a run that grew increasingly longer, one mile added per day. She was then dismissed to eat breakfast and shower. Fifteen minutes allotted for each activity, before reporting back for another equipment check, this time in the barracks as he inspected it for cleanliness and contraband. 

If she had failed to address the issues he'd pointed out earlier that day, she did triple the punishment. He always found more to criticize, but Eve realized pretty early on that he was just making up infractions more than half the time. 

Then it was a run up Currahee, which Sobel timed every third run. 

Eve had to assume she was improving because he never showed her her time. 

Then it was off to assorted drills. They changed every few days, but it was always grueling. Sobel pushed her beyond what she thought she could handle, keeping her out late on all-night-marches, and had her up before dawn each morning for more PT. 

Gradually, she realized that he was teaching her things as he was tormenting her, but he was so petty and small minded that Eve didn't even care. She began to hate him with every small infraction that he pointed out, every petty chore he assigned to just waste her time. 

She said nothing, she did nothing. She just did what she had to and kept a blank face. 

Sobel made sure that the gap between her, the person working in the muck and the mud, and him, the ever clean and presentable superior, was ever observed. 

When it was all over for the evening, she was always so tired she just wanted to cry. Only the potential teasing she faced from the man kept her eyes clear. 

She learned to expect the half portion she usually got for dinner, with the other half adding grease and slop to her already mud stained ODs. She hardly noticed any more, just moved sleepily down the line and automatically to her deserted corner of the room to eat in peace. 

She learned to savor the meals where no one went out of their way to harass her. 

The harassment was typically pushing her into her meal. Once, she'd sat on something squishy on her bench. But overall, the men generally didn't bother with her. She was often already too deep in her own misery to react with anything more than blank acceptance of their pranks. She hoped they felt like they were kicking an animal that was already beaten down, because that's how she felt. 

The isolation was endless and unforgiving. There was no one she could turn to; no one she felt she could say with confidence was rooting for her, just herself. It was a hard, bitter pill to take, but every meal was a reminder. 

No one wanted to befriend the girl. 

Each day pushed the hard truth home a little further: There was no one rooting for her to succeed. No one was going to help her. She had nothing but her own determination to keep herself going. 

But sometimes, that didn't seem like enough. 

- 

Sobel wasn't the only person drafted as her instructor. He had a whole company to oversee after all, and certainly couldn't spend all his time tormenting her. 

The first replacement instructor she had was First Sergeant Evans. 

Evans wasn't too much different from training with Sobel. The ginger haired man skipped over her equipment check and put her straight to work. He shared Sobel's annoying habit of watching her like a critiquing spectator while she worked increasingly harder. 

Where he differed was that Evans was likely to wait until she'd done something completely wrong before telling her she'd messed up, but not how, and then letting her try and fail until she figured it out on her own. Sobel just didn't have that kind of patience and typically just screamed at her until she figured out how he wanted her to accomplish the task. Where Sobel wanted everything done exactly the way he would go about it, Evans didn't much care about the execution as long as the goal was achieved. 

It was different, but not necessarily better than working with Sobel. 

The second person she met from Easy Company was altogether different than Evans. He was a handsome dark-haired fellow from New Jersey. His eyes betrayed his sharp mind, and his grin his humor. 

He staggered onto the field just fifteen minutes past 0530, looking rather worse for wear. 

Eve took in the man with some trepidation, because if he felt half as bad as he looked, she was going to be in for one hell of a day. 

"Jesus Christ," the man mumbled upon seeing her. "You always up this early in full gear?" 

Eve didn't know if the question was rhetorical, but hedged her bets that he didn't actually want to hear the obvious answer and stayed quiet. 

"Aren't you friendly?" he muttered, mistakenly thinking he'd done so under his breath. 

Eve had heard him just fine and tried not to be stung. She didn't even know his name yet, and he was already predetermined not to like her. Immediately, she reminded herself that she wasn't here to be liked and tried to straighten her spine just a bit more under the weight of his stare. 

"I'm Lieutenant Nixon. I'll be taking over your training today from Lieutenant Sobel, because he's sleeping in like a normal person." 

Eve could read between the lines. He was being punished for something and had been stuck training the girl. 

He scratched his stubbled cheek and yawned. 

"So, what do you normally do this early?" 

He reminded her of someone. It took a long moment before she realized it was Alex. Something in the way he held himself, an uncaring slouch despite being raised to have perfect posture. 

"Typically, Lieutenant Sobel checks my equipment first, then he has me run Currahee first, and then –" 

He interrupted her with a groan. "I'm not doing that this early in the morning." He cocked his head and considered her. "Tell you what, why don't you go ahead and get rid of all that gear? I've got something better in mind for this morning. Besides, you look dead on your feet." 

Eve just stared at him, trying to guess whether or not he was kidding. 

"Come on, don't just look at me, I haven't got all day." 

Confused, but unwilling to question it, Eve raced back to her billet and stowed away her gear before racing back to the field just in time to see Nixon stowing a flask in his breast pocket. 

"I'd offer you some," he said, noting where she was looking, "but you don't look old enough to have one just yet." 

"I'm twenty-three," she told him, the words spilling out of her without permission. Eve was already dropping into position for pushups, Sobel's usual consequence for speaking out of turn. 

Nixon didn't bark though, just watched her run through the ten pushups without comment, but with a sharp look in his eye. 

"He's got you well trained, hasn't he?" he remarked as she stood back up and automatically assumed the position of attention. 

Eve blinked at him, not sure if she was supposed to be offended by the comment or flattered. 

"At ease, Private," he said. "All that standing at attention is making me feel tight. Don't worry about speaking freely around me either. You got a problem, I damn well wanna know what it is, got it?" 

Eve nodded. 

"Let me hear you say it," he pressed.

"Yes, sir." 

"Alright," he said. "Sit down."

She did, unconsciously mirroring his pose, slouch and all. 

"This morning, we're going to go over standard operating procedure for capturing a target…" 

Eve settled in to listen, already riveted. 

Before she knew it, the whole morning had passed away in a flurry of questions and answers. Nixon was willing to answer pretty much any question she had about the military. 

"Why do you have to select two people if you suspect a gas attack? Can't you just pick one?" she inquired. Apparently it was standard operating procedure for two people to remove their masks in the event of a suspected gassing. "Wouldn't it make more sense to just look around at all the dead animals?" 

"There aren't any animals on a battlefield," said Nixon, "And you're missing the main point, which is that first you take everyone's weapons, and then you select two people." 

The bell rang signaling lunch. Eve had often times been too far away from camp, mostly running Currahee, to actually take a break during the day, but Nixon was already getting up, dusting off the seat of his pants as he straightened. 

Eve followed his lead and stood as well, but waited for orders. She'd missed her run up Currahee after all. 

"Let's get some chow," said Nixon, already walking away. "After lunch, we can talk about unit tactics and run through the hand signals you should be learning…" 

- 

About four days after meeting Nixon, Eve met a third member of Easy Company. Lieutenant Winters had red hair, sharp blue eyes and an easy manner. 

"Hello, Private," he said when he arrived, precisely on time, something Evans and Sobel rarely bothered with. "I'm Lieutenant Winters, I'll be looking over your training today." 

He gave her a half smile she couldn't help but return. Eve had to admit, he was very attractive. As soon as she recognized that thought - and the budding blush behind it – she stomped it down and squashed it. 

It was odd. Winters was just as demanding a task master as Sobel was, often asking what felt like impossible feats from her, but he was fair. He only demanded her best, not perfection, and he encouraged her. 

"Good job, soldier. Keep it up," said Winters early in the day. 

Eve nearly dropped her rifle from using it as a workout weight, floored by the actual positive encouragement. 

Winters made sure her technique was correct, adjusting her posture with clinical hands so she was able to get more exhausted than ever from her workout. It was worrying that she'd been doing it wrong for so long, and even more worrying that Sobel hadn't pointed it out to her. 

"Permission to speak, sir?" she asked. 

He smiled, "Granted." 

"Will you walk me through the rest of the exercises too?" 

She tried not to interpret the surprised look on his face as rejection and waited for his answer. 

"Of course," he replied, and then did it, walking her through each and every exercise Sobel had her do, and several she'd never done before. 

Better than that, he explained why what she was doing was wrong after he showed her how to fix it. 

"Turn your knee a bit more to the outside. It'll help you get back into position easier." 

"Make sure you keep your chin straight ahead. Otherwise your back bows when you push back up, which can really hurt your back. Try again." He watched her try another push up. "Better." 

Even more impressive: Winters actually did the exercises with her in a form of camaraderie that she'd never experienced before. 

Winters was definitely her favorite instructor. 

There were others, but never more than once as officers seemed to be in Easy Company one second and gone the next in an ever revolving door. 

Nixon and Winters came out to train her least often, but she looked forward to those days. Every morning she waited anxiously, praying that it wouldn't be Sobel or Evans on their way to meet her. She was disappointed often. 

Despite working with some of the lieutenants, she still wasn't allowed to watch the men train. This led her to believe that the men were laughably far ahead of her. Maybe Sobel was doing her a favor by preventing her from watching them, but she yearned to compare herself. 

That didn't mean they weren't allowed to watch her. She often had an audience that came by to heckle her, taunting her as she struggled to mount the ten-foot wall for the third time in an hour, running sprints between each wall climb. 

"Better run, Girlie! The Japs is here!" She heard someone cry in a mocking tone. 

They didn't come by when Winters and Nixon were around, only Evans and Sobel. 

Sobel seemed to subtly encourage their taunting, if only because he didn't do anything to stop it. It certainly wasn't isolated to E company either. Members from every Company, from Able to Item, had swung by her field or the obstacle course or even as she was trying to run Currahee (taunting her as they easily outstripped her), to mock the clumsy girl running the obstacle course under Sobel's fierce scrutiny. 

She swung herself up and over the log wall and hurled towards the tunnels. She crawled under the barbed wire-lined mud pit. 

She could hear Sobel screaming. "For God's sake Buchanan, move faster!" She did. "Stay lower!" She tried. "If you run around like a girl, the Japs will pick you off right away. They're good at picking off the weak link." 

Eve gritted her teeth through the mud and kept going. If the litany of curse words she chanted in her head to keep a rhythm grew with each of his high-pitched, nasal shouting, well… 

When she finished the course, she stood at attention before Sobel as he dressed her down, listing all the things she'd done wrong that would get not only herself, but everyone around her killed. 

"Yes, Sir!" was always the answer. The only answer she could give, before she fell back to the beginning and tried again. 

- 

One night, he pushed her too far. 

Sobel had been in fine form. He'd followed her up Currahee, trying to humiliate her at every turn, even going so far as running circles around her when she had to pause to jog. 

"The men of Easy Company can run this hill at double time in a full pack and gear in half this time! You're too slow! You're not cut out for this. Just say the word and it can all be over. You can go back home to mommy and forget this whole thing ever happened. Find a nice husband to take care of you-" 

Eve tried to tune him out, to just keep her head up and keep going. 

"You look tired, Buchanan. You can go back down to bed, right now. Just say goodbye to all this. You know you're never going to make it as a paratrooper anyway." The barrage was constant. 

She took it all, gritting her teeth and biting her lip. 

Sobel hadn't been satisfied when they'd finished running Currahee. He put her right to work on endless exercises. Jumping jacks, chin-ups, sit-ups, push-ups, squats, duck-walks, lunges, sprints, deep knee bends, designed to stretch each and every muscle in her body. 

Afterwards, just when she felt like she was about to collapse, he sent her to run the obstacle course twice, smugly holding his stop watch in his lily white hand. 

And then he sent her back up Currahee. 

She had no idea how long she'd been at it, but she'd barely been able to remain upright when Sobel finally told her she was dismissed. 

Eve fell out, and stumbled towards the mess hall, feeling as though she was a wash cloth someone had wrung out and left to dry on too-thin wire. 

She ate automatically, each raise of her fork agony for her still quivering arm. She'd been humiliated and belittled over nonsense all frigging day, and now all she wanted was to sleep. 

Bang. She jumped, much to the enjoyment of the snickering men. But it woke her up enough to finish the last bites of her cold food. 

Eve stood with a grimace and stared down at her tray, vividly imagining it magically floating itself over to the dishwasher. She resigned herself to the extra steps and grabbed it, trying not to notice the way her hands throbbed and her knees quaked as she slowly made it to the line, buzzing in her ears as the space between blinks became longer each time. 

Her feet took her automatically out of the mess hall. It must have been closer to sleep walking because she didn't even remember the walk to her billet, longing for a shower and hopefully bed. 

Sobel had other ideas. 

He was waiting for her outside her billet, a full pack and kit dumped in the red dirt next to him. 

She begrudgingly put it on, inspecting each bit of equipment as she assembled it, as quickly and as thoroughly as she could with Sobel's eagle-eye focused on her. Altogether, it felt like it must weigh more than she did. She sagged under the weight and waited for orders. 

"Aren't you missing something, Private?" Sobel asked after she'd been waiting for a good five minutes for him to tell her what to do. 

Eve thought about it, but honestly had no idea. 

"Your canteen, private. The most important resource a soldier in the wild has, and it was not with your gear. Why is that, Private?" 

"No excuse, sir," she said. 

He hummed. "As it turns out, I may know the location of your missing canteen. Some thieves have stolen it and misplaced it somewhere in the woods around camp. Luckily for you, they've left you a map with its location. You will retrieve your canteen and bring it back to me before dawn, or you won't come back at all. Understand?" 

"Yes, sir!" she barked. 

"But first, you will complete the exercise I had scheduled for you tonight. You will demonstrate your ability with orienteering on a compass course." 

She blinked at him, confused and too tired to ask. 

"You will find all ten points indicated on your map, and retrieve your canteen. At each point will be a card with something on it. Report back to me with what was on those cards. You have about," he looked at his watch, an exaggerated motion to taunt her, "nine hours, starting now. The course begins once you reach the top of Currahee. And remember, Private, I will be watching you, so no funny business." 

Eve had never once tried to take a shortcut or skive off some task that Sobel had assigned, so she did not let this comment affect her. 

"Here's your map, Private." She took it, noticing his clean fingernails with irritation. "What are you waiting for?" 

Eve saluted him and began her run. He did not join her. 

She ran the hill without leaving her gear at the bottom out of pure stubbornness, which was as good a reason for doing anything in her experience. She jogged going up, taking breaks to walk every hundred yards or so, and trying not to think about how slow she was going. 

Running now, while she was exhausted would ultimately help her in the long run, but right now she didn't care about the long run. She was more tired than she'd ever been in her life and now she had to do this nonsense. 

Stubbornness was going to put her in an early grave if Sobel kept at her like this. 

But she would die before she gave up. If they wanted her out, they'd have to carry her. 

She made it up the mountain in roughly an hour, typically a terrible time for her, but she could do nothing about it but try to work faster. She had to hurry if she was going to retrieve her canteen from wherever Sobel had thought to hide it before dawn. Thieves indeed. 

Eve could read a map just fine. She had a knack for it. She'd found that she could walk in any direction from a starting point, twisting to avoid obstacles, and return with ease. Plus, she used a hunter's eyesight to find even the most obscure landmarks. 

Unfortunately, she couldn't say the same for Sobel. 

Even with the limited amount of fieldwork Eve had with him, it was no secret around Toccoa that the man got lost constantly. She'd overheard Easy Company men complain about it more than once; and of course she'd witnessed it on occasion. 

She probably wouldn't trust him to lead her to water. She definitely didn't trust that the canteen was actually where he said it was, even if his original intention had been to leave it where indicated. 

Eve pulled out her map and compass. She contemplated using her flashlight, but it went against all of her sensibilities and all the things that Sobel had pounded into her recently about stealth. The moon was full, and there were a few big clouds, which gave off enough reflective light that she was able to make it out. 

Maneuvering around obstacles, like the swamp at the bottom of this gully – which would've slowed her down tremendously had she been foolish enough to try just walking in a straight line – saved her heaps of time. The cards were all on nice tables, hidden under oiled tarps so that they could weather the elements. Obviously, they were a standard part of training, and not something special Sobel set up just for her. 

She dutifully recorded what she found on the cards. Sometimes it was a random alphanumeric sequence; one time it was the word 'fish'. They'd designed it to prevent cheating. Eve could have never guessed what was on the cards had she not actually found them. 

Plus, there was no way that Sobel could claim that she hadn't done the course properly, now. 

Finally, she'd found the last card. She squinted down at her wristwatch, thankful again that the moon was out so she could read the darn thing in the dark. The extra light had made this whole exercise much easier too, come to think of it, because she hadn't worried nearly so much about tripping over things and spraining her ankle or something equally stupid that would pull her from training. 

She had less than two hours to retrieve her canteen. She'd been up and training for more than nineteen hours today by her reckoning. 

There was nothing to do but get on with it. If she wanted to finish, she'd have to track where Sobel went with her canteen from here. 

It helped her significantly that Sobel hadn't taken much care to disguise his movement in the forest, leaving the most obvious trail she'd ever seen from a person with the way he'd just charged forward; and to her fortune, there had been a series of flash thunder storms over the past week, which had been hell to run in. Red mud covered every inch of the forest floor, sucking her boots down further with each step she took. 

Combined with the weight on her back already pulling her down, she was in hell. 

But it made it so much easier to track where Sobel had gone. 

It was easy enough to figure out where he'd deviate from the obvious route she would have taken if she were trying to get where the map said she needed to be. 

It was infuriating. 

This wasn't even a place where he could have made a logical mistake. 

He must have done it deliberately to throw her off. If she hadn't had so little confidence in his navigation, it might've worked and she could've been out here for hours. 

Eve tried to keep herself calm and rational, tried her best not to get angry at the unfairness of it all. It didn't do any good to get angry. It just made it harder to focus on the task at hand.  

Sobel would have had her wandering around all night looking for a canteen that he never intended to be where he said it was. 

The unfairness of it all struck her particularly hard. She bit her lip to suppress her emotions, but it was a losing battle. 

It didn't help that she was shivering, despite having gloves on. Her boots were soaked through to her socks, which slipped around her feet to create what she was sure would become some very interesting blisters. 

Each step sucked more energy from her. She fell over debris that she could've easily avoided had she not been exhausted beyond all measure. 

It took her far longer than it should have to find the tiny cover Sobel had erected to camouflage her canteen. She'd managed to pass the thing twice before figuring it out. 

Suddenly, it struck Eve that her canteen meant water. Thirst slammed into her fatigued body, sending her to her knees reverently in front of the hideout as she pulled forth her canteen. 

It was like a little ray of hope in an otherwise desolate day. She was parched and swaying, even now that she was on her knees, from thirst and exhaustion, and yet she'd found it. She'd beat Sobel's stupid test designed to prove that she couldn't hack it. 

She was so thankful she'd finally found the stupid thing. Her hands trembled too much to actually unscrew it, mud sliding on the cap, making opening it impossible. With a sound of frustration, she wrapped the bottle cap in her sleeve and twisted as hard as she could. 

The seal sighed as it released. Eve brought the blessedly cool metal to her lips and threw her head back. 

Not a drop. 

Eve could feel the burning trail of frustrated, exhausted tears making their way down her cheeks. She stared at the canteen in her hand, betrayed. Maybe it was some kind of trick, maybe her body was so thirsty it couldn't even register the water? She tried dumping the canteen over her head again. 

Still nothing. 

The bastard had emptied it before he'd left it here. 

She started honest-to-God sobbing. 

She'd never been so miserable, never wanted to give it all up so much before. She was at the end of her rope. 

Why on Earth had she ever decided to join the Army? This wasn't training, it was torture. 

She'd beat Sobel's stupid test. She'd done absolutely everything he'd asked of her today. She'd been going for nearly twenty-four hours. She just wanted to be done. 

She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. Her body was pushed beyond her endurance and that was the part of the life of a soldier that she'd accepted, expected even. 

But this? This was just cruel. 

She threw her canteen to the ground and collapsed. She screamed and cried and raged at the world. 

And then she climbed back to her feet and began stumbling back towards camp, canteen secured on her belt. 

She was still on a time limit. 

Eve started picking her way carefully down the mountain. She'd get water and bed when she got back, she was certain this time. It was just a little bit farther, she coached herself. Just a bit more and then she would be done with this horrible day. 

She rubbed her eyes furiously, smearing them with dirt and not caring one bit. She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't do anything now that the floodgates had opened. 

If she wasn't so lonely, if she wasn't so mad at Sobel, if she'd just listened to her father... 

But she was, and she hadn't. But she wasn't going to give up now. 

She'd come too far to give Sobel the satisfaction of seeing her quit. She would not give up. She would not be a failure. 

She would show everyone that a woman could make the cut. 

When she returned, just shy of the time limit, the camp was pitch dark. Sobel met her looking well rested and impossibly clean when she handed over the cards she'd copied, frowning deeply when he realized they were all correct. 

He gave her a nod and dismissed her, no words of praise or pride to spare on her. Eve hadn't really expected any, but it might've been nice to hear them. 

She stumbled to her rack as soon as he released her, her entire body trembling with adrenaline-fueled fatigue. 

For once Eve was grateful about not having bunkmates as she tried to get into her PT gear for bed. It took her three tries to get her shirt off. Her hands and arms just didn't respond correctly the first few times she'd tried it. 

Dressed, she walked straight for the spigot in the corner and cranked it on. She didn't even bother waiting for the water to heat before she dunked her head in the blissfully cold water. She guzzled down enough water that she puked a little back up. It was the best water she'd ever tasted. 

Still desperately thirsty, she drank even more until her belly was full for what seemed to be the first time since she arrived at Toccoa. 

She made a perfunctory attempt to put away her gear before she collapsed onto her bed, not even making it under the covers before she was instantly asleep. 

The next morning, a mere two hours later, Eve dragged herself up at reveille, Sobel cussed her out for no apparent reason and then she was back to it. One day closer to being a paratrooper. 

- 

Overall, Eve thought the physical part of her training was progressing well. She certainly felt stronger. She was able to do more, and much faster. What was once a seemingly endless list of chores became steadily easier each day. 

Even her clothes were looser in places, and tighter in others. She had dropped at least a cup size, and had to ask Elizabeth to discretely send her a tighter bra. 

Running Currahee was a staple. Three miles up, three miles down; three or four times a week at minimum. Eve did it closer to six or seven times a week, sometimes twice in one day. She still couldn't run the whole way, but she'd stopped walking all together, and each time she jogged a little less often. 

She could do fifty pushups easily now that Sobel had taken sadistic joy in making her do a hundred. Five chin-ups still made her arms ache, but it was better than the pitiful one she'd managed on her first day. 

Of course, it didn't ever get to be easy. Sobel constantly upped the ante. He added a timer to her obstacle runs. 

The obstacles themselves were numerous and varied, all requiring some form of dexterity and strength. She knew, mentally that they were designed to help build the muscle required to manipulate a parachute and survive prolonged combat, and not for Sobel's sadistic pleasure. But she resented every moment of joy he derived in watching her fling herself up and over the ten-foot log wall. The horizontal ladder over water was a special kind of torture. Between the individual obstacles there were hills to run, ditches to cross, and trenches to jump. 

Failure meant restarting from the beginning, no matter how close she was to finishing. 

Eventually it got easier too, as Eve started learning the small tricks she could use to help her. The horizontal ladder, for example, needed momentum more than strength to accomplish it. 

But that didn't mean that the thirty-foot ladder wasn't challenging after she'd figured it out its secret. 

By the time she finished the course, she was physically exhausted. Sobel used this opportunity to belittle her, mocking that she hadn't done nearly as well as the men had. 

Eve wanted to scream: "Then why am I still here!", but managed to refrain each time by the skin of her teeth. 

Soon the course became routine as her body developed and her condition improved. Sobel and Sink added more to it, to make it more challenging for everyone, and she dreaded each addition with all of her soul, but accepted them without complaint. It was grueling and monotonous, but day by day, it was getting a bit easier. Of course, what was being asked of her was getting harder too, so she couldn't really judge her progress. 

She didn't have the upper body strength of a man, but she was lighter, and she had better balance because her center of gravity was lower. She worked smarter, not harder, and was able to accomplish everything asked of her, even if sometimes it was just barely. 

Just as surely as her muscles grew, so did her loathing of Sobel; the man was petty and cruel for no reason other than he could be. 

He asked a lot of her, and that she'd expected, but she hadn't realized how degrading he would be. He spent sometimes hours of time ripping her ego and then her rack to shreds, looking for infractions he could punish her with. When he couldn't find any, he made some up and punished her anyway.

If training hadn't been miserable enough, dealing with Sobel's constant ignoble bullshit was exhausting. 

Sobel gave her field manuals to study and then would surprise her with quizzes about what she had studied. It didn't matter what her answers were, she was always wrong. And wrong answers meant more drills. 

She did the best she could and accepted the punishment without complaint, which she figured was what Sobel wanted from her anyhow. 

On days when the weather was poor, he sent her into classroom lectures with Regular Army noncommissioned officers to learn weapon handling and components, standard procedures, and covered a wealth of other information in between. Eve found the lessons on how to pilot a parachute especially interesting. 

Of course, these lessons had their own homework, which she had to complete on top of whatever Sobel had assigned, with similar consequences when she failed. She did her best not to fail, even going so far as staying up into the wee hours of the night to finish the work. It made her exhausted, and PT the next day that much harder, but it meant less punishment duty – which meant she had more time to study. 

It was all a vicious cycle to wear her down. 

Sometimes, she was absolutely certain that her instructors told her that she'd failed to accomplish the parameters of the assignments they'd set even when she'd done what they'd asked to the letter. 

She was definitely sure that Sobel did it with her field manual assignments. 

All she could do about it was redo the work on top of whatever else she'd been given to do and hope that they accepted it this time. 

Eve accepted this unfairness as a fact of life and moved quietly onward, doing the work she could and accepting punishment duties when she failed. She took punishment duty for trumped-up bullshit charges from Sobel as well. 

Scrubbing the men's latrine was his favorite to inflict on her. Night duty was another unpleasantness she'd had to endure. She stood guard for two two-hour shifts at night, listening intently as each sound collated into imaginary enemy converging on her location. Such was her exhaustion that she didn't even notice the private that came to relieve her. 

She gave the man a quick salute and jogged back to bed for a few hours before she had to get up and relieve his relief. After that, she'd be back up to start all over again with a run. 

When she was off-duty, Eve spent a lot of time on base. She rarely if ever had a weekend pass as Sobel loved to assign her punishment after Saturday afternoon inspections. She'd never actually gotten to see Toccoa, much less anything beyond the scrap of Georgia woods they'd settled the camp on. She was curious by nature, and not being able to leave camp was a pain in the ass. 

She filled whatever down time she had with yet more exercise. This time it was because she wanted to. She needed to be the best – better than any of the men – to gain their respect. And she was going to do it by outrunning, out-climbing, and outperforming everyone else.

 _If I’m the best, they won’t care that I’m a girl,_ she told herself optimistically. 

When she was too tired to move any more, she flipped through the field manuals and played solitaire until sleep claimed her, pretending that she wasn't lonely. 

- 

Eve's problems with the other men were coming to a head. It seemed like every day that she stayed, the men became more determined to convince her to leave. 

She endured them calling her a floozy – and several other names she tried not to remember – every day and accepted it. She'd forced herself to get used to it and tried to remember that the names were just names, not things that defined her; some days it even worked. 

She found herself bumped and shoved her into walls and sharp corners, the crowd always too dense to pick out who exactly was behind it. It felt like she had a new collection of bruises every time she showered. 

On one memorable occasion she'd been shoved into a row of trash cans. She'd then had to gather the spilled, spoiled garbage by hand and replace it in the bins, gagging and fighting back tears the whole time. A full thirty minutes under her freezing shower hadn't washed the stink off, or the bruise on her thigh the size of her fist. 

She had more bruises from bumping into the men than she did from training. 

There wasn't much she could do about it. She would never be included if she decided to tattle. No one liked a rat. 

Still, if she had told someone the men probably would have never ambushed her a few days before her final examination. 

She was leaving the mess hall just after lunch when she ran into a group of five privates from Baker Company. 

Eve tried to go around them, expecting the shoulder checking that knocked her into the wall. 

What she didn't expect was for the soldier to follow and try to pin her to it. He realized very quickly why that wasn't a good idea. 

When Eve was a child, her governess and then her older brother had taught her how to make overzealous men let her go and regret ever grabbing her. 

Cold fear raced down her spine. She fought like a cornered wild cat, kicking, biting and scratching. But she was too scared to scream, too focused on getting him to let go. She pinched at every nerve she remembered on his hands, finally finding one that made him holler. 

He lashed out and walloped her in the face, his fist blackening her eye. But the momentum of the hit got her out of the corner she'd been backed in. 

She didn't stick around to finish the fight – that had never been her intention – she ran like hell. 

Eve burst through the onlookers, vaguely recognizing them as Easy Company men. 

Humiliation washed over her. 

They'd watched. And they'd done nothing to help her. Granted, they didn't join in trying to humiliate her either, but it was clear – she was not one of them, and thus didn't even warrant their protection. It made her feel sick. 

She didn't slow down until she was in her barracks, leaning all of her weight against the door, trying desperately to stop trembling. She tried to ignore the hot tears dripping off her chin as the fear she'd felt overwhelmed her for a moment.

Just a moment, she vowed. 

When her hands had stopped shaking, she straightened with a sniff and went to the spigot that served as her shower. She ran her washcloth under the frigid water and brought it to her eye, vaguely noticing that she had blood under her nails from where she must have raked the man who'd hit her.

She left the cloth on her eye for as long as she could, rewetting it whenever the water warmed to her skin temperature. It wasn't the steak her housekeeper would've given her, but it was the best she could do. She wasn't going to medical for a black eye. 

When she'd shown up for evening PT with a shiner, Sobel had growled about it and proceeded to double her load for fighting. Eve was almost grateful since it kept her mind off what had happened. 

She needed to be a soldier first and her evaluation was just around the corner. 

It was her only weapon, the only thing she had sole control over. 

Instead of trying to retaliate, she needed to put her head down and keep working. 

She was going to prove them all wrong. She would prove she belonged here, that she was just as capable a soldier as any other man in the company. She just had to survive these last few days, and then her test tomorrow. 

She couldn't help the anxiety that churned in her stomach every time she thought about her test. She tried to push it away and focus. She had to survive the rest of her probation first. 

- 

Eugene Roe staggered back as the girl careened into him. She looked exhausted and disheveled, and scared. 

She pushed away from him, with barely a glance backwards as she fled. 

He took quick stock of the scene, of the Baker Company boys caterwauling about their injured hands and how the girl was going to pay. 

"Did you see what happened?" he asked Sergeant Guarnere, who was also watching the action. 

Easy Company had just finished PT with Sobel, and he was tired. He'd planned to try for a nap or something before dinner. 

But it looked like his bunk mates would be too riled up for him to get any peace now. 

"She should just take the hint and leave," said Liebgott from behind him somewhere. Roe cocked his head to listen to the San Franciscan. "One less thing to worry about when we get over there. We don't need dead weight when we're fighting Japs." 

George Luz, easily the friendliest man in Easy, laughed. "That's what we have Sobel for, huh, Lieb?" 

"All's I know is that I joined to be with the best of the best. Ain't no way a girl is the best this country has to offer. Ain't no way," said Guarnere. 

Privately, Roe hoped she would give up and go home. He didn't want to watch a woman being torn to pieces on a bloody battlefield. He could respect her want to be a soldier, but he didn't think he would be able to live with himself if he had to watch a woman die, fighting a war thousands of miles away from home where it was safe. 

He prayed that night for God to send Evelyn Buchanan back home. 

- 

Eve didn't think she'd manage to sleep at all the night before her examination. Sobel took care of that notion and worked her so hard she gladly dropped into bed, dreaming before her head hit the pillow. 

The next morning, she rolled out of bed and changed into her PT gear. The sky hadn't even started to lighten yet with the dawn, but she was far too nervous that she'd be late to try and get back to sleep. 

She threw up what she'd managed to eat last night for dinner. 

When she got to the field, she was beyond relieved to see that she was the first to arrive. 

She waited anxiously for Sobel and her examiners to turn up. Every minute felt like an hour. 

Finally, after what seemed like a hundred years, they appeared. Eve watched the trio of men, too far away to identify anyone but Sobel’s very familiar figure cutting across the still damp field. 

Eve had to remember to keep breathing. 

"At ease, soldier," commanded Sink once he was in front of her. "Miss Buchanan, I'd like to introduce you to the new General in charge of the program, General Taylor." 

It was Eve's worst nightmare. General Lee was instrumental in getting her into this program; he was the one who was backing her. Taylor had no incentive whatsoever to allow her to stay even if she succeeded. He might be inclined to fail her before she even got started. 

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," said General Taylor with a smile. The man was handsome enough, and was probably her father's age. 

"Shall we get started Lieutenant?" Sink asked. 

"Right this way, gentlemen," agreed Sobel. "Report to the obstacle course, Private." 

Eve saluted and headed that way, carefully forcing herself not to run. She wanted every scrap of energy she had to go into the task before her. 

Her time here was worth nothing else. If this was going to be the end of her journey, she wanted them to remember her at least. 

When the three men arrived, each had a stop watch. 

"All right, Private," said Sink, addressing her from a distance away. "You'll have three opportunities to go through this obstacle course. You must make it through in under three minutes in one of those runs. Are you ready?" 

Every hair on her body stood up as adrenaline plunged into her system. She nodded, too shaken to speak. 

"On my mark," he said. "Go!" 

Eve sprinted flat out as fast as she could, flinging herself up and over obstacles. Her muscles anticipating what she would ask before her brain had even caught up. She raced through the course once, twice, a third time and just prayed that she'd made time once. 

She just needed once. 

Next they led her over to a machine gun. 

"For this task, Private, you will disassemble, clean and reassemble this gun, then fire a burst over yonder to hit that target." 

Eve followed Sink's finger to a barrel propped up in the distance. She nodded. 

"On my mark," he said, the words well familiar after three runs through the obstacle course. "Go!" 

Eve went, working steadily until each piece was taken apart and checked over. She cleaned the barrel and made sure to replace the firing pin before she snapped the ammunition in place and took aim. One quick burst, _one, two, three,_ the barrel went down smoking, and she was done with the second part of her test. 

She couldn't tell if she'd passed, or even if she'd done well. All three men were stone faced. 

At least she'd hit the target. 

Sobel marched her through a variety of other physical exercises. They never told her what her benchmark was, so Eve did them all until she couldn't do any more.

"Well done, Private," confirmed Sink. "For your last standardized test, you're going to make a round trip up Currahee, and back. Are you ready?" 

Eve could do nothing but nod around the lump in her throat. 

"On my mark, then… Go!" 

Eve ran. She ran as fast as she could for as long as she could. She jogged when the trail became too steep for a flat out sprint, but managed to run for most of it. It was somehow fitting that this mountain, which had become her bane while training, was her final task. 

She could do this. 

Eve kept going, kept pushing, until she was suddenly back at the beginning, standing in front of General Taylor, Colonel Sink, and Sobel. 

The two commanders were smiling. Sobel looked smug. 

"Forty-three minutes! Well done, Lieutenant Sobel. You've out done yourself. Damn fine job, soldier," said Colonel Sink. Eve felt cheated that Sobel was getting the praise for her hard work, the man who'd done anything to see her fail, was reaping the benefit of her success. He must have been addressing her as well in his praise, but it surely didn't feel like it. "General?" the man addressed his superior. 

"I think this young woman is ready to integrate with the others," confirmed General Taylor. He shook her hand, and gave her a warm smile. 

Sink copied the sentiment and said, "Congratulations. I knew you could do it." 

Eve bit her lip to keep from laughing as elation bubbled in her breast. Absolutely no one had known she would be able to do this; secretly not even her. "Thank you, sir," she said instead, diplomatic to the end. 

"Take the afternoon off, Private," said Sink before he left the grounds. "You've earned it." 

Once the two brass were off the field, Sobel said, "Be ready tomorrow morning at the regular time, Private. I will be escorting you to Easy Company barracks at 0600 tomorrow morning." 

“Yes, sir," she said. 

"Dismissed," he confirmed. 

Eve felt like she could float away, but she did her best to walk sedately back to her billet. 

Once the door was safely closed behind her, she twirled around, just once, in excitement and started packing. 

She was in. From tomorrow forward, she'd be a member of Easy Company, 506, 101st Airborne division until the day she died. 

She would deal with the fact that her entire Company hated her tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to celebrate by falling into bed and staying there until morning.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be every Thursday. Thank you for reading!


	4. Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve persevered through private training with Sobel. 
> 
> "The greatest oak was once a little nut who held its ground." - Author Unknown
> 
> Now: Eve joins the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful Beta's: Laura001, Anonymous1O1, Atman, Aryam150, FandomlyCroft, and Minerva300.

-Chapter 4-

Eve was up at dawn, after sleeping though the predawn light a whole extra hour. Yawning, she rolled out from under the blankets and dressed in her PT gear. She made her bed with the crisp military lines she’d been drilled in, and then ruined all her hard work by sitting on it.

Today was her first day as an official member of Easy Company. Eve waited for the feeling of bundled nerves to settle, but they didn’t. She still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d made it. She only spared a moment before she forced herself up, and went to her sink to splash some water on her face.

She wondered if she should have changed into her ODs, but PT gear was more likely. She didn’t have time change her mind, because Sobel barged into her billet with a bang.

She moved back to stand at attention before her bed.

He looked her over critically, searching for infractions. Eve held her breath.

After what felt like an age, Sobel nodded.

“Follow me,” he said, uncharacteristically blunt and then left.

Eve obeyed.

Down the line of tents and barracks they went, Evelyn keeping one step behind Sobel’s easy pace. She tried to keep her attention on Sobel’s back, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting about. She’d never really felt like part of the base due to her segregation.

She tried not to notice how the men they passed stared at her. She could feel their eyes sliding up her waist to her small bosom, and then down to rest on her bum. She fought to keep a blush from her face, tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed.

Sobel certainly hadn’t. He glared at anyone foolish enough to get in his path and blazed ahead.

He halted, without warning, in front of a particularly noisy billet, and said, “This is where Easy Company’s second platoon is housed. You are officially a member of Second Platoon as of today. You’ve already met your Platoon leader, Lieutenant Winters. He will assign you to a squad. You will follow the chain of command. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Should you fail to maintain this Company’s standard of excellence, you will wash out, just like any of the men. Just because you passed your probationary exam, does not make you a paratrooper, merely a candidate just like everyone else. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said again.

“Good,” he said, then charged into the barracks.

The room immediately fell silent as he strutted down the aisle between beds. Eve, still framed in the doorway, froze where she stood, inwardly shrinking as the occupants stood at attention beside their bunks and stared at her with hostility. The majority of the men were already dressed in their PT gear, but not all of them. Eve refused to be bothered by the multitude of shirtless men glaring at her.

Sobel cleared his throat, eyeing the glaring men. Eve could see Sobel gearing up for a speech and hoped that he might finally let the men get to know her, prayed that he might allow her the courtesy of introducing herself, on her own terms. The hard look on his face indicated otherwise, and Eve’s heart sank.

“Easy Company, this is Private Buchanan,” he barked, and waved their attention over to her, despite the men already staring at her.

Eve suppressed a sigh. Sobel’s gesturing was a completely redundant motion, but she kept her eyes from rolling.

“You will treat her as you would any other member of this unit. She will run with you. She will eat with you. She will train with you. Any concerns you have about her fitness for this unit will be taken up with Colonel Sink. Private Buchanan is one of you now, and you will treat her as such. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” The men shouted back in crisp unison.

Eve fought to keep her face composed as her dismay mounted. Rather than make an effort to include her into the group, Sobel had singled her out – isolated her – again. The man didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

She was doomed to be the pariah of Easy Company.

“Good. You have two minutes to be in PT formation. We’re running Currahee.”

Eve ducked back out the door, not eager to watch the men get changed, and waited in front of the billet for them to file out. Sobel had gone to the next billet up the road – she could hear him bellowing orders through the wooden walls – before he walked out and went to the next one. Eve wondered for a minute why second platoon’s billet was first on the road, but discarded it as unimportant when the soldiers started lining up in formation.

Eve waited until they were just about finished, and then slotted into a row at the back, slightly worried. She’d hauled herself up that God forsaken hill nearly a hundred times in the month she’d been at Camp Toccoa, but this was the first time she would be running with somebody other than Sobel. She hoped she could keep up.

It wasn’t until they were just about to head out that she noticed how many glares she was getting for picking the back of the column. Apparently, she’d exhibited some sign of weakness by deciding to stick to the back. Her efforts to blend in were in vain. Instead, she seemed to have given them more cause to dislike her.

She smoothed her face. There was nothing she could do about it now, they were already moving. She’d just have to try the front for the next run, and hope that she could ignore their spite better when it was directed at her back.

The run up Currahee was hard, as it always was.

Eve had hoped that Sobel would bore of tormenting her now that she was a part of a larger group, and spread his vitriol around. This too was a vain hope, as Sobel honed in on her immediately.

“Different running with men, isn’t it Buchanan? Are you ready to go home yet?”

But this time, when she ignored him, he moved on to other people.

“You look tired, Private Perconte!” she heard him tormenting a poor fellow in the column ahead of her. “What’s the matter, you can’t keep up with Private Buchanan?”

Just like that, the pace increased.

Eve pushed harder to keep up, trying not to resent Sobel even more.

Maybe Sobel’s intention had been to prove to the men that she could keep up, that by belittling her, he was proving that she’d received the same harsh treatment as they did to make it this far. But he failed to understand the sheer offense the men took to her presence. She was not one of them, singling her out in any manner just made it clearer to see. So his attempt to integrate her, and create a cohesive unit, fell flat on its face.

And then they started to sing.

Everyone else clearly knew the words, because they all sang along without hesitation, even the ones who were terrible singers. The man next to her probably couldn’t have found the right key with both hands and a map, but he sang just as loudly as anyone else.

The songs were easy enough to follow along with. Despite never hearing the songs before, Eve picked them up quickly. They ranged from motivational, to bragging, to bawdy at the drop of a hat. Some were filthy, and she sang along with everyone else, a grin on her face. _If only mother could see me now._

Most were call and answer songs, so she didn’t stick out too badly, apart from her voice. There was no blending in with the rest of their voices, no anonymity in her singing.

Of course, as soon as she felt like she was getting into the song, it changed out from under her.

And then that God-awful singer deliberately tripped her. She caught herself with a few steps, but she’d broken the rhythm they’d fallen into. It drew Sobel’s attention. She endured his vitriol, staring at the mop of hair in front of her and nowhere else.

She ignored the singer’s smirk, and kept going.

It would take more than a stumble to get rid of her.

-

After a grueling morning of training, where Eve had to watch her every move, and more terrifyingly, everyone around her, she was exhausted.

She’d dodged more “accidental” elbows and “misplaced” feet this morning than she had in her entirety of being at Camp Toccoa.

It was depressingly obvious how much displeasure the men took in her presence.

She was supposed to fight and die for these men, and they for her. How could they ever do that if they didn’t even like her? And how were they ever going to like her if they didn’t even give her a chance? Eve had never even spoken to any of the men beyond her instructors. She’d never had the occasion.

Training gave way to lessons in the afternoon about all manner of things. These lectures, which had been a welcome reprieve during her probation, were yet another area where she earned scorn from her fellow Easy Company members.

The instructors themselves didn’t help matters. They called on her once every fifteen minutes or so to make sure she was paying attention, despite the constant scratch of her pencil as she took diligent notes.

It was frustrating that even in this aspect she was the focus of all the negative attention in the room.

She could do nothing about the teachers but answer their inane questions and study harder, knowing that each class period was going to be full of questions designed to make her look stupid or fail.

“What is the advantage of the high ground?” she was asked.

“The most obvious advantage is the greater sight line the high ground offers, but the high ground also gives most heavy weaponry superior range. It’s also a more defensible position.” Eve responded.

“Well done, Buchanan. I’m so glad someone decided to do their homework today. Thank you for answering that so eloquently.”

Eve blushed, feeling oddly ashamed that she’d done well.

Every time she answered a question correctly, it was overly acknowledged, to varying affect. Sometimes she was placed above the men, a pedestal they should aspire too, and sometimes she felt pandered to, as though the question was so simple, even an infant could have come up with the answer.

His constant attention was like a hammer, driving the nails of the men’s hatred deeper until Eve would never be able to pry herself free of them.

On her way out of the classroom, someone jostled her as she got up just hard enough that she went sprawling, her notes flying everywhere and catching her hip on the sharp corner of the desk.

“Fucking brownnoser,” the man hissed, and deliberately stamped his boot tread into her papers.

The other men laughed, and hustled out, making sure she was the last person in the room.

Eve sighed and figured she might as well get used to it. Within the day, brownnoser, bookworm, and teacher's pet all became new monikers added to the various other colorful names she was called. She ignored these as deftly as she did the smears on her honor. There was nothing she could do about any of it.

-

The mess hall became middle ground. Apparently the members of Easy Company had decided that it was only safe to approach the girl when food could be used as an excuse.

One morning, a man joined Eve in the chow line. He introduced himself as George Luz. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and reminded her of a Labrador pup. He had an air about him that put her at ease.

“So where are you from?” he asked.

“Virginia.” She gave him the easiest answer and picked her favorite of her family’s homes.

“No shit? So’s Shifty Powers and Popeye over there.” He gave a vague gesture to a vague table. “You gotta job back home?”

“No,” she said, moving down the line.

“Huh,” Luz’s eyes turned sly. “Leave behind a sweetheart?”

She shot him a look, acknowledging the dangerous territory. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Not really interested in sweethearts, and they’re not really interested in me.”

“Ah, c’mon. I bet, with a bit of make-up and a bit of soap, you’d clean up real good.”

 _Is this guy serious?_ Mood suddenly dampened, she moved away from him, unwilling to continue the conversation.

“Hell, I’ll take you!” he called after her, much to the amusement of the men, who’d been eavesdropping, and laughed at her.

She retreated to her isolated table, trying to let the encounter slide off her like water off a ducks back. She tried to focus on eating; determined to ignore everyone for the rest of the meal.

It was a silly resolution to make. No sooner had she done so, than Lieutenant Winters slid onto the bench across from her.

She smiled at him, genuinely glad to see him.

“Hello,” greeted Winters, “It’s good to see you again, trooper. Do you mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full.”

Eve blinked; what an odd thing to say. Eve hadn’t been with Easy Company a whole day, and even she knew that the men nearly worshipped the ground Lieutenant Winters walked on. He was the perfect juxtaposition to Sobel’s petty cruelty. If he asked, she was sure he could find room at any table he wanted.

“Not at all,” she said eagerly, her mouth replying without her brain attached. She grimaced; she hadn’t meant to say that, or at least not in that tone.

Another tray slid in next to her. She met the dark eyes of Lieutenant Lewis Nixon with a small smile. “Hey, kid,” he said.

Eve had often noticed these men in each other’s company, but after meeting them both separately, she couldn’t see how they had turned into such good friends. Yet, they were nearly joined at the hip. Anywhere Winters went, Nixon was sure to follow, and vice versa, which was odd considering their different temperaments. Winters was as straight laced as it came, and Nixon could give two figs about authority of any kind.

“Hello, sir,” she said, as glad to see him as she was to see Winters. These two men had been her only bright spots in an otherwise completely miserable month.

“Finally,” said Nixon, settling in, “some seats with elbow room.” He stretched out to prove his point. Eve grinned back at him, his smile too infectious to do anything else. “Pass the salt, would ya?”

She did. He gave everything on his plate a liberal coating, even his bread.

Eve dropped her eyes to her plate and began eating like she thought of nothing else, suddenly unsure. She was definitely glad to see these men, but what were they – as officers – doing in the enlisted men’s mess hall?

She tried not to shrink under the suspicious glares that had followed the men over to her table and were directed at her.

“While I appreciate the sentiment of you coming over to say hello,” she started, still staring down at her plate. “It will win you no favors, sir.”

“Buchanan,” said Nixon, sharply enough to draw her eyes to his face. “Does it look like we care about what these sons-of-bitches think of us sitting with you?”

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Winters, cutting off her retort to Nixon about how he very well should care. “I am exactly where I want to be, and that’s really all that matters.”

Eve tried not to blush again.

“Don’t worry about it, all right?” he asserted. "Now that you're in my Platoon, I want you to know that if you have any problems of _any_ kind," said Winters. His eyes flicked to Luz and the group of guys gathered around him laughing uproariously at his jokes. "Let me know. I'll at least make sure your side is heard."

Eve noticed that he carefully left out what side she would have. She nearly said something about that, when she thought better of it, and gave him only a nod in reply. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone tried something with serious intent. She was the "easiest" slut in the entire state according to some of these men – and the fragments of newspaper she pretended not to see when they'd been left in front of her barracks – and though no one had really put any effort into accosting her, she wasn't going to put down money that it would never happen.

She also made the deliberate choice not to mention the other petty bullying that was going on. Even if Winters tried to put a stop to it, he would likely just make them more vicious in the attempt.

No, that was something she had to deal with on her own.

“Count me in on that account," said Nixon, bumping her with his shoulder. She ducked her head embarrassed. She hoped she never had to take them up on the offer, but she desperately appreciated it.

She needed all the allies she could get.

“So, are you planning on moving into the barracks?” Winters asked her, exchanging a loaded glance with Nixon.

Eve shrugged and looked up to meet those sharp eyes, noticing the flecks of green in his irises. “I guess. I thought that was the plan, but I’ve had no orders to do so. I was planning on talking to you about it during free time.”

“I’m not sure I can do anything about it,” confessed Winters.

“So should I talk to Lieutenant Sobel about it then?” asked Eve, already knowing what the answer would be if she did so.

Winters speared a piece of mystery fruit with his fork, but he waited to chew it until Eve had asked her question, giving himself time to mull over his answer. “This might be a problem that you should take directly to Colonel Sink. I think he’s the only one who can make that kind of decision.”

Eve spent the entirety of three bites considering this thought. It would definitely piss off Sobel if she went so far over his head to complain to Sink. But then, Sink had told her to take up her complaints with him.

She didn’t know if she wanted to cash in such a valuable favor on something that might have a firm answer, though.

But this was important. If Eve never moved in with the men, they’d never get used to her. The chances of friendship forming if things remained as they were, with Eve a separate but equal member of Easy Company, diminished with each passing day that they didn't accept her.

Finally, Eve decided that she would take her chances with Sink tomorrow and risk Sobel's wrath. He was already perpetually angry with her. A few more rotations on the bullshit duties list wouldn't make that much difference.

"I will, sir," she finally answered Winters.

"Good," said Winters.

"So," said Nixon after observing Eve take several overburdened bites of food to avoid talking with them to some considerable personal amusement, "how was your first day training with Easy Company?”

Eve slowed her pace and chewed the question over with her shoe-leather tough mystery meat, and then set aside her silverware, appetite suddenly gone.

“I’m behind,” she admitted softly to her food, too ashamed to look at these men, who’d been among the first to encourage her. She hadn’t even acknowledged the truth of that statement, lest she allow herself to despair at the gap separating her and the men. “I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to catch up.”

Winters and Nixon traded surprised glances.

“Buchanan,” said Winters, voice coaxing. “You’re not behind.”

Eve looked at him, unable to hide her incredulity.

Nixon took over. “Buchanan, you ran Currahee in forty-four minutes. That’s six minutes faster than what’s required of the men to pass basic training,” he said. “Sobel’s been taunting the men with your time running that hill since you broke the fifty minute mark in your second week.”

Eve slowly met his eyes, face still set with her blatant disbelief.

“Sobel wouldn’t have let you stay if you weren’t going to run circles around the boys.”

Nixon paused dramatically, really waiting for Winters to take a bite of mystery meat, knowing he was too polite to speak with his mouth full, no matter what Nixon said.

“He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch. I swear he actually said my ears were dirty yesterday. Damned if he didn't have the same complaint about the next four guys in line before he switched to creased trousers. I had a headmaster just like him once.”

Eve tried not to laugh, but Nixon just kept going, kept pushing, and suddenly she couldn’t help it, and was sniggering into her palm.

It felt so good to laugh again.

Nixon smiled at Winters, beaming at his triumph, despite his friend’s blatant disapproval, the man couldn’t argue with the results.

When she sobered, she gave the men a small smile, acknowledging how much she’d needed that. “At least I’m not the only one,” she said, a lingering smile twitching her lips upwards.

She couldn’t put into words just how relieved she was that Sobel was just a jerk to everyone; he wasn’t being malicious specifically towards her.

"No, you're not the only one," said Winters, finally finished with his arduous mouthful, and deftly pulling the conversation back from ragging on Sobel, very conscious of the ever listening ears around them. He gave Nixon another disapproving look for good measure, though he knew his friend would continue to ignore him. "And we probably shouldn't be caught disrespecting our superior officer, Nix," he scolded.

Nixon seemed almost gleeful at the reprimand, but schooled his features into a serious expression – for all of four seconds before Eve's incredulous face broke through his mask and he burst out laughing again.

Winters, also catching the face, laughed as well. Maybe there wasn't much to worry about with Private Buchanan. He thought she'd fit in with the boys rather well, if she stuck it out that long.

He knew she was physically capable of keeping up with the men, but would she be mentally capable of surviving training with them?

Despite her humor, Eve took the words to heart, deciding it made a lot of sense. There was no real value in moaning about the officers. They were there to do a job. Sobel's job was to be an asshole.

She accidentally said as much under her breath – her mouth and brain connecting in a way that usually got her in trouble; and also meant that she was exhausted – and nearly sent Nixon's recently inhaled drink all over Winters. She pounded the Lieutenant on the back so he wouldn't choke and he gave her a face like she'd hung the moon.

"Now you've done it," said Winters, knowing Nixon. "He'll be like a dog with a bone over that one."

“I didn’t mean to say that, sir,” she said, sheepishly. “My mouth ran away from me. It won’t happen again,” she promised.

Winters didn’t seem too offended, though, despite his earlier comment about disrespecting officers. If anything, the look on his face was somewhat relieved.

“Just be cautious,” he ordered, thinking that perhaps she had enough spunk to weather it out after all.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed.

Nixon gathered himself. "No, seriously," he said, casting back to the point he’d been interrupted while making. "I had a headmaster just like Sobel. He's pushing us to be better because we hate him. We improve to spite him."

"I suppose I wouldn't have improved so much if I didn't want to prove him wrong," she admitted, swirling her fork through a brown sauce that might have been gravy once.

"That's the spirit," said Winters. "Just hang tough."

Eve caught Nix rolling his eyes and wondered what that was about. Sadly, she'd finished eating though and noticed that most of the guys were putting their trays away.

She’d somehow managed to actually make it through a meal.

"Hey, Dick," said Nix and tapped his watch. "Sorry, Buchanan," the Lieutenant directed at her as he and Winters gathered their plates and got up to go. "Sobel wants us in the barracks in ten minutes. If we're a minute early, he'll call us five minutes late."

"It was nice talking with you," she said and stood up too. It was probably the most pleasant meal she'd had since she'd left home. "Thank you for eating with me," she said.

Eve hurried away before she could see the pity on Winters's face.

 _Looks like I'm back to eating alone,_ she thought as she handed her tray over. _Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want to start some rumors. I like them both too much to drag them down with me._

Recognizing that her thoughts were completely useless and melancholy, she shoved them away and went to barracks. She had no time for melancholy.

She had work to do.

-

The next morning, she went to the barber and paid him to cut off her hair. She’d specifically asked for a military regulation cut. Her hair had been getting in her face for way too long, and now that she was in the paratrooper training, she couldn’t have it in her way.

Her next stop was Colonel Sink’s office.

“Did you speak with your CO about this?” he said, preempting her question.

“Sir, I believe I was instructed to come to you if I felt I was being mistreated in any way,” she said, knowing it was a trigger phrase to make him think the worst. He needed to know that she was serious.

His face fell in disappointment, and a bit of pity as he searched her tired eyes for signs of trauma. “Oh.” He shut the door to his office. “Alright, Private, I want names, I want specific grievances.”

“Permission to speak frankly, sir?” He nodded. “It’s you, sir. It started the moment I came here.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “If I behaved in some way to suggest –“

“No, sir,” she said. “It’s the double standard, the separate quarters. I mean, you pulled out my chair and offered me a drink when I first got here, sir. I managed to survive probation, didn’t I? If that’s so, I’d like to be with the men, sir. How am I ever going to fit in with these guys if you’ve got me set up as an outcast?”

“I see your point,” he said after a long moment digesting the thought. “It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“I know that, sir,” she said. “It’s why I brought the matter straight to you.”

She just wanted to be treated the same. That meant moving in with the men and sooner rather than later.

“I appreciate it. In the future, I would appreciate if you’d continue to do the same. You might regret this, but we’ll do it your way Private. Move into the barracks before reveille tomorrow.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

She saluted him and left, a little disappointed that he hadn’t mentioned her haircut.

-

“Oh, no, what’s she doing here!” cried Private Parks as he saw her come through the door.

“Hey, Lip? Shift? Roe? Anybody wanna trade beds with me?” he announced waking up the still groggy troopers who watched as Eve dumped her army issued stuff sack into the footlocker at the base of her new bed.

“Jesus, calm down, hotshot,” said Luz. “I’ll trade ya.”

Eve shot him a glance. He gave her an innocent smile she would believe more on a bank robber’s face and ignored him, apprehension twisting her gut. She knew that face, too guileless to be innocent. She’d need to keep a closer eye on Luz. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep with him so close, so obviously threatening.

He gave her a more real smile, obviously reading her apprehension. It loosened something in her as she remembered her first impression of him.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad? Maybe she’d give him a chance. If he proved to be just like everyone else in this Godforsaken unit, well, then she’d have learned her lesson.

She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to do her duty and do it to the best of her ability.

But it would be nice not to be quite so lonely.

-

Her move to the men's barracks came with hiccups, but she dealt with them, mindful that she wouldn't have the luxury of privacy in a warzone.

She'd taken care of changing by simple prejudice of wearing her bra to bed. The tight fabric was never completely comfortable, but she couldn't just bear all in front of the men. After a few initial moments of awkwardness, mostly ogling and the occasional “check it out fellas!” when her shirt came off, she mostly kept them at bay by the brisk, efficient way she switched from her PT to her ODs. She kept her personal hygiene secret as was proper, the only indication of her monthly gift being an increase in her chocolate consumption.

The attempts to get rid of her quickly intensified after her move. It was nothing obvious, and nothing overly time consuming, but all of it was horribly tedious.

On field maneuvers, she often woke up to find equipment missing from her pack. It was gone just long enough to make her look stupid in front of Sobel or Winters or whoever was leading the mission, but reappeared afterwards.

No one wanted to carry someone else’s gear with so much of their own to haul already.

She eventually took to hiding her rations on her body, or she would wake up without any. It was getting better, in fits and starts, as she proved that she wasn't there to flake out on duty. She volunteered for the shit duties no one wanted, especially if it meant time isolated from the guys. They left her to dig her foxholes alone, pitch a tent alone, start a fire alone, but with each task she accomplished competently, she gained allies. Not friends, and certainly not companions, but guys who weren't completely opposed to her staying anymore, which was far better off than she had been even a week ago.

She heard the men whispering at night in the barracks. They were afraid. Afraid she'd freeze in combat and get them killed.

"She's a dame, for Christ's sake! Who's to say she won't swoon at the first sight of blood, huh? Or freeze up and get herself fucking shot?" she heard someone ask the room at large. Honestly, she was afraid of freezing too, but couldn't they say the same for any of the men?

And the notion that she'd faint at the sight of blood was one of the most hilarious things she'd ever heard. She had never heard something so ridiculously Victorian in all her life. She'd lost any and all squeamishness about blood by the time she was fifteen. Any girl who lived past puberty did so. The notion that grown women fainted at the sight of blood; it was enough to make her giggle.

She could do nothing about any of it but endure.

They would accept her one way or another, but they would have to try a lot harder to get her to wash out. They would have to carry her cold, dead carcass out the gates before she'd ever give in or give up. And they could all go to hell if they thought otherwise.

George Luz seemed to be the exception. More often than not, he chose to sit next to her in class making jokes to lighten the atmosphere. Many a time Luz had the entire class in stitches, teachers included.

Eve never heard rumors about what he’d done to make the others stop tormenting her in class, which was in a way scarier than if she had.

Though Luz never ate meals with her, he still managed to pop up whenever she had punishment duty. Occasionally, he'd help her along, which she appreciated. His sometimes inane chatter kept boredom at bay, at least.

Outside of class, he seemed determined to get to know her. He quizzed her about her family, her friends, and her childhood. She gave the information freely, but frowned once she realized that it was not reciprocal. He hardly shared anything with her. Why, she couldn't be sure, but it gradually began to bother her. She tried to let it go, not let it worry her, but it stayed in the back of her mind. She never mentioned it though, wary of upsetting her only companion.

She might almost call him her friend.

-

“Today,” Sobel announced to the entirety of Easy Company one Friday morning, “we will begin the most critical phase of your training. Until this point, killing the enemy was completely theoretical. Today, we’re going to put it into practice. Live ammunition, gentlemen,” he said, daring Eve to protest the pronoun. “Let’s get to work.”

“Basics are simple,” said the regular Army NCO instructor. “You will aim and fire your weapon at the target until you can reliably hit the center nine out of ten shots. Once you’ve mastered this basic course, we’ll move on to more difficult targets.

“Get on the firing line, and assume position.”

Evelyn allowed herself to be jostled to the end of the line, too excited to care.

She was thrilled to finally get a crack at something she was actually good at, for a change.

She’d missed shooting.

After weeks of disassembling and reassembling her M1, and performing routine maintenance, she had already fallen in love with her gun. It was not her beloved rifle from home, but each quirk she found endeared her to the weapon all the more. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and they’d get along together just fine.

When she got her first live clip, she popped it into the base of the M1 and lined up the sight. She adjusted her stance for the weight of the gun, anticipating the recoil. Breathed. And squeezed.

Just to the right of center. She adjusted.

She squeezed again. Perfect.

She went through the entire clip, each shot taking less time than the last, until the empty clip popped out of the gun with a ‘ping’ and bounced away.

She looked at the target, satisfied.

Then, something made her look down the row.

There was only one other target that looked like hers; the man responsible was looking right back at her.

He gave her a friendly smile.

Unsure, she nodded in acknowledgement and took a new cartridge, determined to get as much shooting in as possible before Sobel realized how much fun she was having and found some reason to take it away from her.

-

Sobel had the nasty habit of making them wander around in the pitch dark for no apparent reason other than he could. His favorite was making them march twelve miles every Friday night, in full gear.

She’d done night marches on her probation, but now she wasn’t marching around in full gear by herself. It was much easier to fall into a consistent pace when everyone else was walking to the same rhythm.

It meant that she wasn’t walking nearly as fast as she had before, but they still made rather remarkable time. If the men were half as tired as Eve felt, she was amazed they were all still upright and walking straight.

She didn’t put it past the fellow who’d walked right into the ditch to have been sleep walking, though.

Tonight, Sobel caught poor Christenson – handsome enough fellow from first platoon with shocking blue eyes and a towering height that made toting his heavy caliber machine gun easier – out for being stupid enough drink from his canteen. As punishment for drinking water when he wasn’t supposed to, Sobel ordered the man repeat all twelve miles of the march as punishment.

After what was already a long, exhausting day spent training Eve was just grateful that Sobel hadn’t decided to focus his sharp attention on her tonight. One miserable march per night was enough, thanks.

She knew Christenson had it worse, what with having to tote the .30 caliber machine gun along with him. It was a lot of extra weight to haul. She was infinitely grateful that she was a rifleman, and not a part of the mortar or heavy gunners' squads.

He probably wouldn't be back tonight, and if he was, then he'd probably only get an hour or so of sleep before they had inspection tomorrow morning.

Eve took a moment to consider going with the man. On the one hand, it would be a good show of solidarity, and perhaps a good way to finally make a friend.

But Eve didn’t know Christenson, and didn’t know how he felt about her. She wasn’t sure her company would be welcome, even if she did offer it. Her mind turned to what the other men might think of her volunteering to go with Christenson alone – and the vicious talk that might spark because of it. She had enough to deal with when the rumors of her amorous relations were unfounded.

The fear of rumors cropping up combined with the thought of going through tomorrow on virtually no sleep to force her back into the barracks.

No one else had decided to go with Christenson either.

Eve collapsed on her bed and decided not to think about it anymore. She was continuously exhausted, and more often than not fell into her bunk after changing without thinking about the fact that men surrounded her.

While unfriendly during the day, at night they left her alone, acting like her corner of the barracks didn't even exist, which was fine. They had a weird truce about sleep. She trusted them not to do anything to her while she was sleeping, and they lived up to the expectations hidden in that trust and never did, not even for a prank that they might have done on another new guy.

She got enough shit for being a woman during the day that they were all too tired to fuss with it at night. And anyway it didn't really seem right to torment her in her bunk. If she cried silently into her pillow at night, it was no more than any other man did, and was just as respectfully ignored.

This distance was the only mild respite she had from the men, and she was wholeheartedly grateful for it.

Exhaustion permeated the room. Men from other platoons filtered through, finding separated friends and joining together for some very subdued relaxation activities. Many of the men were too exhausted to move once they’d sprawled out on their beds, some managed to flip through magazines they weren’t supposed to have and gossip with their friends about the contents. Some gabbed while they were polishing their boots. Most of them were smoking – everybody always seemed to be smoking. And then there were those too tired to do any of that, too tired to do anything at all but to converse about their lives before all this.

Eve always tried to ignore those stories. It was easy enough to tune it out and focus, since there was no real motivation for any sort of the rowdiness the men usually exhibited during the day. The soft hum of conversation was easily tuned out as she took apart her M1, meticulously cleaning it now that it had seen some action.

“Miss Buchanan?” said a soft voice from next to her bed.

Eve jumped, hand flying to her chest, still holding the cloth she was using to wipe down the stock of the gun.

There was a man standing next to her bed. He’d crossed the no-man’s-land around her and invaded her territory to loom over her, making her feel small and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said the intruder. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask where you learned to shoot like that? You’re really good, near as good as my pa I’d reckon, and he’s the best shot I’ve ever seen.”

Eve wondered how she could answer that without sounding condescending. “You have me at a disadvantage,” she said instead of answering the question. “You know my name, but you’re not from my platoon.”

“Oh, I’m Darrell Powers, call me Shifty. I’m from Third Platoon. I just came over here to visit with my buddies.” He waved over to a knot of young men sitting on Luz’s bed shining their shoes. They didn’t seem to have noticed Shifty’s absence just yet, but that wouldn’t last.

“My father taught me as a girl. I used to go hunting all the time back home.”

“Oh yeah?” said Shifty, looking excited. “What kinda gun you got?”

Eve described her rifle with far too much fondness. “You’re not a bad shot yourself, you know?” she pointed out, feeling like she was stating the obvious even when the kid blushed and acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Where’d you learn?”

“My pa taught me,” said Shifty. “Got so good I knocked a dime outta the air once. I lost the dime though.”

“That’s rough,” she said. “It would have been some kind of lucky token.”

“Yeah, I-“

“Hey Shift! What’re you doing over there?” called a redhead – Malarkey if she wasn’t mistaken.

He beamed at the room at large, who’d noticed his proximity to the girl with some skepticism and quieted to a whispered hush that didn’t bode well for either of them.

“You’d better go,” she said quietly, before he could answer. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too, ma’am,” he said.

“My name’s Eve, or Buchanan if you insist; not ma’am. Ma’am makes me feel old,” she said, quoting one of Grandmamma Buchanan’s favorite sayings.

“Yes, Miss Evelyn,” he said, grinning so endearingly that she couldn’t help the smile she gave him back. He must’ve read the humor she’d tried to put in the statement.

“Don’t you worry about them,” he reassured as he left her. “They’ll come around.”

He rejoined his friends who then proceeded to welcome him back with exaggerated talk as though he’d been away on some grand quest.

Eve went back to her gun. _He’s a nice kid,_ she thought. _Maybe a little naïve._

But still, if he was coming over to talk to her, maybe she had made some progress.

Two hours later, the lights had been turned off, and everyone was tucked away in their racks, willing themselves to sleep before dawn snuck up on them.

“Buchanan?” called Luz, a mere hissing whisper in the night.

Eve, on the edge of sleep, ignored him, certain he was up to nothing good.

“Buchanan? Hey, Ev? You awake?” he repeated a little louder.

She stayed still. Maybe he'd go away and she'd find the sleep that was dancing on the edge of her brain. She was exhausted, but there was still a smattering of the other men in her barracks still chattering quietly.

They'd been relatively polite about it, especially when someone told them to pipe down, never Eve, but being men, and young men at that, there were several times when they forgot themselves and got too loud.

It was aggravating, but Eve knew better than to turn around and show them that she was listening, much less scold them for being up so damn late. Inspection was bright and early tomorrow, and Eve had been trying to absorb these few hours of sleep to no avail thanks to her rowdy roommates who hadn't even had the decency to dim the lights before they spent the last two hours bitching about Sobel and the Army. If Eve had wanted to listen to useless chatter, she would have had similar luck at a sewing circle at home listening to old biddies bickering over politics.

And since when did he call her “Ev”?

"I think she's asleep," said Luz, obviously addressing the room at large.

"Finally!" said Liebgott.

She heard a gentle rustling that indicated that they were shuffling around the room.

"Alright," Luz said, an organizer calling a meeting to order. "Parks, you lose, fork it over."

"You too, Guarnere!" called Martin.

"Yeah, yeah," the Italian grumbled. "Well, put me down for this Thursday, then."

"Sure," said Luz, "How much?"

"Five dollars."

Someone whistled. _That’s a lot of money,_ Eve thought. _I wonder what they’re betting on?_

"Alright, so that's Guarnere for this week, five dollars," he said.

"Can you believe this broad's still fucking here?" someone grumbled.

"Nope," said Luz, "that's why we're bettin'. My money's on her washing out before we even get assigned to squads."

"Actual dates only, Luz, you know the rules, you fucking made them."

Eve felt her eyes widen and her brain shut down as pain lanced her heart. _Oh._

So much for having a friend.

She sank deeper into her pillow and struggled not to cry. _Stupid,_ she thought, _so irrevocably stupid for thinking she'd made progress with the men._

She heaved a quiet sigh that nearly traitorously turned into a sob. She repressed it ruthlessly. Now was not a good time to wallow in having been so ruthlessly fooled.

Had she really been so desperate that she’d latched onto the first kindness? The first insincere offer of friendship to be had?

Any kinship she’d felt with George Luz was ashes in the breeze. She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep.

When reveille was called the next morning, Eve felt like she’d just closed her eyes for a second. With a quiet groan, she pulled herself from bed.

“Hey, Buchanan,” said Luz with a smile.

She could hear the scorn in his voice now, and ignored him, pulling on her ODs as though he’d never spoken.

“What, not feeling like talking this morning?”

Eve gave him a look, knowing her feelings were too raw to be hidden.

Strangely, he backed off and went to bother someone else.

Eve finished getting ready, and spent the rest of the day on her own, enduring the bullying with a stony face and an iced-over heart. She’d show them all.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates on Thursdays.


	5. Hanging Tough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Eve tries and fails to fit in with the boys.
> 
> "A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water." - Eleanor Roosevelt
> 
> Now: Things get worse, not better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Anonymous101, Atman, FandomlyCroft, Minerva300, and Laura001 who are all amazing. All remaining errors are mine.

-Chapter 5-

George Luz watched Evelyn Buchanan. Ever since she’d looked at him this morning after he’d greeted her, he’d sensed something had gone awry. Just yesterday she would have at least said good morning. It felt like she’d retreated from him completely.

He’d actually grown to like her a bit. He still wanted her to go home – where she’d be nice and safe – but she was a nice girl. Whip smart too.

He wondered what had happened, what had put the ice into her eyes this morning. She’d scared him with all that feeling he could see, especially since he’d started to think that nothing they did could touch her.

It made him uneasy.

-

Eve made a habit of leaving the mess hall early. Since discovering the gambling ring, she didn’t really feel comfortable spending her free time in her barracks right now.

After lunch, so long as Sobel didn't have any other sadistic ideas, was two hours of free time before afternoon PT. Eve figured the other men used it for shooting the shit, polishing their boots, tending to their gear, or just to sleep. Such activities, however, would have confined her to the barracks, where she was obviously not welcome.

So, she did her own PT instead. Some days she ran the track or the camp perimeter, other days, the obstacle course, and when she was feeling particularly masochistic, she might even drag her lonesome self up Currahee. She never did the same route twice in a row, though. That would’ve just been asking for a jeering audience.

When she left the barracks, she did so at a jog – brushing past some Able Company guys, who either didn't feel like hassling her or didn't recognize her. Working her way to the perimeter of camp, she began to run along the fence line. It didn't take long for her legs and lungs to stop protesting and settle into the easy rhythm she set. The humidity made her sweat, but she had already been disgusting when she started, so another layer of grime really wasn't going to make any difference.

About two thirds of the way around camp, someone called her name.

"Private Buchanan! Wait up!"

She slowed down, and turned to see who was interrupting her. If it was one of her bunkmates, she was fully prepared to ignore them and keep running. She really couldn't handle any more unpleasant surprises today without monumentally losing her temper.

It was Lieutenant Nixon. She came to a halt and saluted him, breathing hard and wondering what he wanted.

"Yes, sir," she said, and he saluted back, slowing to a walk from the jog he had come over at. She wondered if he had been waiting for her.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, sounding somewhat amused.

"Uh," Eve looked over her shoulder at the fence line she had been following and took a breath; she kept her eyebrow down, though it desperately tried to creep up her forehead with incredulity. "Running, sir."

He chuckled and nodded, "I can see that, Private. What I meant was: why are you running during your free time, when we're just going to run again in," he checked his watch, "an hour-and-a-half?"

She shrugged and said, "Didn't feel like lollygagging in the barracks, sir. Thought I'd get some fresh air."

Eve hoped he couldn't tell that she was lying through her teeth. What she'd like to do was sleep for a week, but then she'd have to be around the bastards she was billeted with. That, and she needed all the help she could get. Doing extra drills was her only hope of keeping up with the men.

"Fresh air, huh," Nixon said, and she knew he had seen right through her, "Mind some company?"

She did. She was in no mood to mollycoddle anyone but herself at the moment, and she was well aware that she was in a temper. But she wasn't about to say no an officer, especially not one she liked so much, so instead, she just nodded and started jogging again, the Lieutenant falling into step beside her.

They made it a few hundred yards before Nixon spoke up once more.

"You're Senator Buchanan's daughter, aren't you?"

She nodded and he hummed thoughtfully.

"Why'd you want to join the Airborne? Your dad could have gotten you a position anywhere, why here?"

Eve shrugged. "Honestly, there were a couple reasons."

He waited for a while, eyebrow cocked expectantly. When Eve caught sight of it, she sighed and continued. "The paratroopers might never actually see combat, and yet the training is rigorous. Dad said if I was going into combat, I was going to be with the best."

She chose not to mention the fact that he didn’t expect her to succeed. No one else did, so it was hardly a surprise, but if she didn’t admit it aloud, she could pretend it wasn’t true.

"Why not take an officer's commission?" suggested Nixon. "You've got the aptitude for it and you'd probably be safer that way."

Eve huffed, trying to catch her breath while she thought through her answer. "If I had taken a commission, they'd have made me a supply officer or an aide, somewhere tucked safely away in the corner like a delicate flower. Frankly, if I wanted to be a secretary, I'd have stayed home and saved myself a lot of trouble.

"I want to be in combat. I want to know that I'm making a difference every time I pull a trigger, not hiding away behind a skirt in an office typing reports. By the time the reports are written, it's too late to do anything."

They ran in silence as Nixon mulled over her answer in his head. The reasoning was sound, as he'd somewhat expected, but less sentimental then he had originally assumed. He'd guessed that she would have some naïve notion about how fighting was honorable and war was glorious, but instead all he found was someone with a profound desire to help, even if her help wasn't wanted.

He wondered if she was that sentimental girl anyway, and was just too smart to admit it.

"You know, the press is all over your story. _'First woman in combat,'_ and all that. They all say you're going to go down in history as either the Army's greatest mistake, or the next Joan of Arc."

Eve shook her head, exasperated. "Lieutenant Nixon, I'm not trying to stir the pot, I couldn't care less what the newspapers say about me, and I’m well aware of the worst of it.” She added thinking of the endless news scraps her platoon had read aloud in her presence to amuse themselves at her expense. “I'm just trying to do the right thing as best I can.”

She stopped running and turned to look at him, "This is what I was meant to do. I know it in my bones. If they don't like it, then, frankly sir, they can go to hell, because I don't give a fig."

Nixon laughed, thinking, _Honest-to-God she sounds just like my favorite grandmother, the old battleaxe._

She didn't know what she had said to make him smile with such a strange mix of ruefulness and pride, but shrugged it off when he just shook his head at her and saluted her. She returned it.

"Well, then, Private Buchanan, carry on," he said and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and sauntered off.

Eve shook her head at his back and continued her run, grinning despite herself. Nosy bastard.

-

“Not that way,” said a lilting voice over her shoulder. Eve looked down at the bandage she was trying to get to stay on a practice dummy. He was made of straw and not cooperating in the slightest.

Brisk, long fingered hands took the bandage off the dummy and tied it again with practiced ease.

“See here,” the man behind the hands said, voice a soft Cajun twang. “You gotta get it tight around the arm first, easiest way is to tie it like a boot.” He showed her again, quickly. “Once it’s tight, then worry about getting the ends tucked away.”

Eve watched as he tied the bandage several times around the wound, tightening at each layer, before knotting it with a small, neat knot, tucking the tails into the upper and lower bandages to keep them from getting in the way.

“Thank you,” she said, searching for the man’s name. He was from her barracks, and was a medic-in-training. He had dark hair, and was unusually pale for someone from the Deep South; but he came from Louisiana if she wasn’t mistaken. His dark blue eyes were patient and calm.

“Eugene Roe, miss,” he said, polite.

“Thank you, Roe,” she said again. “I never would’ve got it.”

He shook his head and turned back to his own dummy, already finished. She pretended he wasn’t looking around furtively, making sure no one had noticed him helping the girl.

She returned the favor several hours later at the gun range.

Somehow, Roe had ended up next to her on the line.

“Keep both eyes open,” she told him gently, under the cacophony of gunfire.

He looked at her, sharply, so she demonstrated, hitting the bull’s-eye.

Roe shifted his stance a bit, so his weight was a little more evenly distributed like hers was, and locked his elbow up where it belonged. He lined the sight up with one eye, and then, following her advice, opened both eyes to fire.

He hit just right of center. A marked improvement.

She grinned at him, happy for his success, and went back to her own shooting.

-

The one thing Eve really couldn't get the hang of was hand-to-hand combat. She got her ass handed to her every time.

Eve's father had insisted that she and Elizabeth both learn how to defend their honor from overzealous men should they ever have the need, so Eve had thought she would do well. But this was completely different. To succeed, she had to completely overpower a man and kill him.

She just didn't have the upper body strength for the standard holds to be effective, and her lithe stature made getting any leverage nearly impossible. The blocks felt awkward and inefficient, and her punches didn't do a damn thing. Every time she ended up on the ground with even more bruises and Sobel's spit in her hair from when he shouted down at her.

She really hated Captain Sobel.

Today, Joe Toye was paired up with her. He had at least five inches on her, and everyone in the company knew he was one of the best brawlers in the entirety of the 506th. She sighed and settled in.

_This is gonna hurt._

It did. Her moves just didn't flow together like everyone else's did. Every punch was too low and every block was too high, and everything was awkward.

Even Toye, easily one of the most laid-back guys in the company, quickly grew frustrated as her ineptitude foiled his chance at improving this session. His blows started having more and more of his weight behind them and soon he was pushing her backwards.

"C'mon Buchanan! Just fuckin' quit already, why don't cha? Fuckin' hopeless," he murmured after Sobel moved on from correcting them for the second time to stay in line with the others.

Fury and frustration filled her, and her next punch was wild. She overextended and next thing she knew, Toye had her on the ground, her right clavicle feeling as though he'd split it in two.

She couldn't breathe. Every attempt sent fire ricocheting from her shoulder down her arm. Her ears started to ring, but she could still hear Sobel's screaming, "Line up! We're running up Currahee! Move it!" and felt hands yanking her up.

She nearly fainted from the pain, vision whiting out and spotting dangerously as she viciously bit her lip to keep from screaming.

She heard Lieutenant Nixon's voice in her ear, egging her up.

"Come on, Buchanan, up you get. Let's go," he said, and her feet began moving on orders without any real consent from her mind.

The shock of pain began to dull just enough for her to focus on the man in front of her as she trudged toward that infernal hill. Every step jarred her shoulder, which she could already feel beginning to swell. She bit her lip to keep the tears welling in her eyes where they were instead of rolling traitorously down her face in the wake of her agony.

She barely remembered anything from the run, or the following discussion on Fuller’s Tank Warfare Strategy, and what that meant for the infantry and riflemen they supported, led by Lieutenant Colonel Strayer, which was something she would normally have been extremely interested in. But the throbbing in her shoulder had spread up to her neck and head and she was just trying not to pass out in the middle of the lecture.

She missed the concerned glances Lieutenant Winters and Nixon kept sweeping over her too pale face every time she winced trying to roll her right shoulder or lift her arm.

She didn't even bother to change out of her PT gear after their late night march before falling into her rack and passing out, dead asleep.

-

She woke with a start to someone shaking her ankle and whispering her name.

"Private Buchanan? You awake?" Eugene Roe asked. She could only just make out his dark hair and luminescent features in the pale moonlight spilling through the windows, but his low voice and Louisiana accent was unmistakable.

"Yeah,” she whispered groggily. “Yeah, I'm up. What's up?"

She tried to sit up with a groan, belatedly remembering her shoulder when it burned. After a pause – to gather herself after being so careless in trying to sit up – her shoulder already settling into an angry throb, flaring with renewed pain, and waking her up fully – she forced herself up, babying the shoulder as she levered herself into a sitting position. She’d hoped it would have stopped hurting – or lessened at least somewhat – by now, but no such luck.

"Easy," Roe said, catching her grimace and sharp intake of breath as she sat up, "Lieutenant Winters asked me to check up on you. Mentioned your shoulder was hurting?"

She nodded, beyond caring how Winters had guessed. She really hadn’t been able to be subtle in hiding her pain due to its overwhelming nature.

She swung her feet off the side of the bed. Roe knelt in front of her. He reached for her shoulder.

"May I?" he asked and nodded at her shoulder, and she was too tired to do anything but nod.

He gently moved aside her shirt and brassier strap. Even in the low lighting, the swelling and deep bruising was readily apparent. He frowned and pulled out his Zippo lighter to better see the damage. Eve couldn't stop her flinch as he ran cold, callused fingers over the swelling he found.

"Toye really walloped you, didn't he?"

She shrugged, her uninjured shoulder, wincing as even that made bright spots of pain appear behind her eyes. "I don't think he meant to hit me that hard. I overextended." Eve didn't even know why she was making excuses for Joe Toye. She hardly knew the man, and he certainly didn't know her – which didn't stop him from hating her – but all the same; she should have known better than to lose her temper.

Roe hummed, probably going for thoughtful, but it came out as a mixture of disbelief and what Eve thought might be disgust. That might have been wishful thinking.

"Well, your clavicle's probably got a hairline fracture. It's definitely bruised though. You're gonna have to try and go easy on it for a while," He pulled a towel filled with ice from somewhere. "Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off."

He gently pressed it to her shoulder and held it there until she understood that he wanted her to take it from him. She did so slowly and was mortified by the tear that leaked from her eye. She wiped it away quickly.

"Sorry," she said, her voice wracked with exhaustion and humiliation.

Roe didn't mention her tears. He just handed her his watch and said, "Twenty minutes, then toss it, and get some sleep."

She clutched the cold metal and nodded, bringing her feet back up onto the bed and leaning on the wall behind her. She pulled her knees up and glanced at the watch. 23:45. She hoped she could stay awake for twenty minutes.

Roe stood up and pocketed his lighter. He paused for a moment before leaving and patted the knee closest to him.

"Hang tough," he said, then padded silently back to his bunk.

-

The next day was easily the most miserable one Eve had ever experienced. She had never realized how interconnected her shoulder was. Even walking and running aggravated the injury, causing a deep throbbing ache punctuated by sharp pain whenever she tried to rotate any part of the right side of her body.

God must have been looking down on her because it rained all day, not letting up for even a brief respite between thunderous deluges of rain. The tendency of rain in Georgia, at least thus far in Eve's experience, was for clouds to roll in, dump massive amounts of water, and then roll away. The sun typically managed to burn off most of the actual water before evening unless it had been raining for a particularly long time, but the humidity stuck around like an unwanted guest, keeping them all dripping with sweat.

Today, the clouds seemed content to squat over the camp, pissing rain all day.

What this meant for the paratroopers in training was that they were in lessons all day. The cacophony off the tin roof made it nearly impossible to hear the instructors, who had resorted to shouting.

Eve couldn't even get her right arm onto the desk, much less use it to write anything down. She had to make do with the illegible scribbles she produced with her left hand. It meant that she missed more than half the day's notes, only able to take down the main concepts rather than her usual neat, detailed transcript of what the instructor said. It was insanely frustrating.

No one seemed to notice her difficulties, or the increasingly tense set of her shoulders, which did her injury no favors. Not even Luz, who was again sitting right next to her. She was somewhat thankful for it, because it meant that he wasn't pestering her, but she hadn't quite forgotten that he was betting on her to fail.

He could stuff his inane chatter back into his skull for all she cared.

Her shoulder was making her irritable.

She could have kissed the man (not that she _ever_ would have) when the instructor announced that they were done for now and to get their butts to chow for lunch. She tucked her notepad away in her coat and ducked her head down and made a mad dash for the mess hall with the rest of the Company doing the same, some in twos and threes, others braving the rain alone. They all ran like they'd melt like the Wicked Witch from Oz if they were exposed to too much water. She noticed the red-head Malarkey strolling along like it was sunny and shook her head. Crazy fool Irishman.

She took a moment to breathe once she hit the awning around the mess, trying to quell the nausea that had reared up after jostling her shoulder with running like that. She almost couldn’t stand the idea of bumping into the other guys on their way to the mess like it was a competition to see who could get in line first. Like the chow was going to run out or something equally as stupid.

"Buchanan?" said a quiet voice. She looked up and met Eugene Roe's concerned eyes. He looked around to make sure they were alone before handing her some papers. She took the sheaf, grabbing for it awkwardly with her left hand having only remembered not to use her right after she'd already started the movement.

She flipped through the thin pages, noting the precise elegant script. It took her a moment to actually adjust to the way the letters looked to actually read what he'd handed to her.

His class notes.

She flipped through them, scanning the words quickly. She couldn't have done better herself. She looked up at him, taken aback by his kindness. He gave her a nod, the barest quirk of his lips in a smile and stepped around her into the mess.

Eve folded the notes as carefully as she was able and slipped them into her jacket with her notebook before following the medic-in-training into the building.

Balancing her tray in one hand was not fun, but at least the cooks had bored of splashing food on her as she went through the line. She sat at her abandoned table and tried to utilize her fork left-handed. She felt like a heathen. Her mother would cringe and scowl in the most amusing way if she was here to witness her daughter's atrocious sham at table manners. The thought cheered her up considerably and she ate with much more enthusiasm. She took out Roe's notes and read them over, mouthing the words as she went, trying to get them to stick in her brain while she had access to them.

When she finished eating, she'd finished reading the carefully recorded words, and tucked them back into her jacket. She dumped her tray with little fanfare and then left.

They had an hour to see if the rain would let up before they had to assemble for close order drills. Eve used the free moment to slip the notes, and the watch he’d lent her the night before, back under Roe's pillow in the empty barracks.

She walked back to her bunk, more than happy to spend the rest of the time off trying to sleep, because her shoulder didn't hurt when she was asleep, and was caught halfway there by Guarnere, Toye, Luz and Liebgott coming in, drenched from the rain.

She met their faces, stoic in Guarnere's and Toye's case, false cheer in Luz's, malicious glee in Liebgott's, with the blank smile she used whenever she wanted to appear politely interested and really telling the people she was listening to (or pretending to listen to) that she didn't give a flying fig, and slipped past them, already trying to think of an alternate place to be for the rest period.

As she squeezed by Luz, he clapped her on the shoulder roughly, nearly sending her to her knees. She could see, through the grey pain, that he was probably trying to be friendly, but it hurt too much to even scream.

She stumbled a bit, but regained her footing. _Jesus Christ, that hurt._

She passed by Lieutenant Winters on her way to find another place to be, ignoring the laughter behind her as she closed the door. Winters gave her a smile as she let him pass by and wandered off. Maybe she'd go for a run after all.

-

Dick Winters walked into his platoon’s barracks. He'd spent the better part of the afternoon rest period rounding up the most likely instigators of Private Buchanan’s hazing. He'd been observing it for some time now. Buchanan had put up with it admirably, never coming to him or any other officer for support despite his offer that he'd be willing to listen.

Nix seemed to like the young woman. He’d talked of little else after training her that first time as Sobel’s backhanded punishment. Nix had gone on and on about the ramifications of her joining the army often with great zeal for the stir it was causing.

This, combined with his own favorable impression, was what initially drove him to look out for her.

Before he’d met her, he hadn't really concerned himself with the girl. He, like everyone else, assumed she'd wash out before her first month as a probationer was through. Three months in now, and she was still here. Winters admired that kind of determination.

She was an underdog in the most classic sense, and he wanted her to prove to everyone what he’d known she was capable of that first day he’d trained her. Buchanan was born to be a soldier.

He'd been watching for weeks as the men of Easy Company made it abundantly clear that Buchanan wasn't welcome amongst them. It had been mostly harmless, no crueler than any of the pranks they'd played on each other apart from the sheer volume.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, Toye nearly broke her shoulder. Winters had asked Roe to look in on her, and this morning, hearing Roe's estimation of her injury, made him realize that he had let things go too far.

So he'd spent the afternoon getting together the men he'd seen most often fueling the fire. Joe Liebgott rarely let a moment go by where he could jostle the woman into walls or tables or even her own food. He'd been the start of it all, by Winters's estimation.

Bill Guarnere was forever bitching about the girl, calling her "cunt" and threatening to take her to bed to "straighten her out." Winters knew, that a lot of this animosity spread from Guarnere's desire to get her out of the danger zone, but Bill's foul mouth only became worse when she was around. His tough love approach was more tough than love, and definitely sharper than what Winters had observed from anyone else.

George Luz was well-known as the ringleader for all bets and gambling, but the particular favorite right now was the massive wagers placed on when Buchanan would wash out or drop out. It caused the men, worried about losing their bet, to become downright vicious where they would have otherwise been indifferent. If the gambling stopped, nearly half the spite would as well.

And then there was Joe Toye. He'd never been exactly quiet about his firm opinion that women belonged at home. But Winters hadn't thought Toye had it in him to actually hurt her. He'd crossed a line.

Collectively, they had crossed that line a long time ago.

Winters removed his garrison cap, running fingers through his hair to flatten it back into place. "Hey, fellas," he said.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" said Luz, cheerful as always. "You wanted to see us?"

"Yeah," he said, looking the men over. They appeared bored and eager to be elsewhere. "Yeah, I did.”

“What's goin' on sir?" asked Guarnere.

Winters gave each man a flat look and decided blunt honesty would work better than subtlety. "You need to lay off Private Buchanan."

"Sir?" asked Liebgott, confused.

“Private Buchanan has earned her place in Easy Company," said Winters, trying to make this as clear as possible. "Colonel Sink specifically oversaw her completion of her probation period, which she served under Lieutenant Sobel.

"After which she became a full member of Easy Company. And you will start treating her like one, understand?"

"Sir," said Toye, offended that he'd called his behavior into question. "She's not like anyone else. Buchanan can't survive in the field like a man can. She's a liability to the unit. The sooner she washes out, the better for everyone."

Winters was disappointed when everyone in the room seemed to agree.

"Look," he said. "Buchanan is excelling at the same training everyone else is. She's getting no special favors or treatment from command. She survives on her own merit, which is why she hasn't already been drummed out of here. And she's been doing it without even the support that you men have from each other. If she's a detriment to the unit, it's because she's not a part of the unit. Your antics over the past two months have isolated her completely from her Company. This whole experience is meant to give you men a stronger bond in combat. That cannot be accomplished if you're willing to leave her behind. She's your teammate now, so you'd best get over the fact that she's a woman.”

The men before him looked cowed, but he could see the anger that still lingered. "You may not have set out to cause deliberate pain, but you crossed a line yesterday," he said staring into Toye's eyes to make sure the man knew how serious he was about this.

"Sir?" asked Toye, definitely offended now.

"You broke her shoulder, Joe."

He waited for that to sink in. From the horrified shock on Toye's face, and the grimaces on the other men, he could see that the news surprised them. He hadn’t realized it was so bad that they no longer recognized it when she was in pain, if they ever had. A single glance at her had been enough for him to realize that she was in agony.

"It stops now," he said. "If you cannot be friendly, you owe it to her and your unit to be civil. The least you can do is have an open mind. She's earned the chance to fail out on her own without any help from you.”

He met each man's eyes again, receiving nods from each man as he processed the gravity of the situation. He could tell that they were all somewhat disbelieving, but hopefully, they'd give her a shot or approach her with an open mind and form a new opinion.

"Good," he said. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." He nodded at them, confident in these men that they would at least take his advice to heart and started to leave the room.

"She gonna be okay?" asked Luz, catching the Lieutenant as he was heading out the door.

"Doc Roe says she'll be fine in a few weeks. The bruise will be colorful, but she should be able to continue training," he said, and left.

"Fucking shit," said Toye, coming to terms with what he'd inadvertently done to another person. Sure they were training, but he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, let alone a girl.

"Alright," said Guarnere, recovering first. "We give her a chance."

Luz was digging through his footlocker for the journal he kept the bets in and flipped through it. "I guess I can give you fellas back the money you bet," he said. "No way I'm keeping it up now that Lieutenant Straight-laced knows about it." He forked over the cash.

Liebgott tucked his away and flopped angrily down on his bed, thinking hard about the girl.

-End Chapter-


	6. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: The boys go too far. 
> 
> "I asked for help, which is the hardest thing in the world." - Marcia Wallace
> 
> Now: Eve asks for help, and receives it from an unexpected quarter. Which is good, because training get's inexplicably harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful Beta's: Atman, Anonymous, FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Minerva300

-Chapter 6-

_Dearest Alex,_

_Can you believe it’s already November? I swear, the last time I looked at a calendar, it was only June. Where has the year gone?_

_Training has been every bit as difficult as I anticipated. We work to exhaustion from sunrise to midnight. It’s never boring, there’s always some new task to do, but the amount of work that we accomplish each day is astonishing._

_Still, despite all the changes, there are some reassuring consistencies from day to day. Friday nights are a march in full pack and gear. Our commander is very strict with them, no talking, no smoking, no stopping for anything at all, and he adds an extra five miles each week. We have random inspections, where our commander will take away our weekend passes if he finds any infractions. Often times, he’ll take the whole company’s pass because too many of the men have failed some aspect or other. I confess, I haven’t had a weekend off base since I’ve arrived. I think he knows when the guys have plans out in the town, because it’s usually right after they talk about it that we get waylaid by some task or other._

_It’s frustrating, but each hardship forces the company closer together. And it’s not as though our CO isn’t right there with us, doing everything he’s asked of us, which can’t be said for all the officers here._

_I have been welcomed with open arms. The men all treat me as a younger sister. They are all dedicated to my success as a member of their unit, but also to my safety. Have no fear for your little sister, dearest brother, I am in good company._

_I only hope your unit has welcomed you half as well as mine has me._

_There’s no need to waste your worry on me. I am doing as well as can be expected. There was one small mishap with my shoulder in hand-to-hand, but it has become something of a blessing in disguise. I will admit that learning to do everything with my left hand was a bit daunting, but after a few weeks, it was as though I’d been doing it my whole life. I can only imagine how it will be useful in combat._

_How are you faring on the high seas? I saw in the newspaper that your ship has already engaged the Japanese. Trust that I am praying for your continued safety._

_Write to me more often brother. I’m sure you know that mail-call is one of the few pleasant surprises we soldiers receive in basic training._

_All my love,_  
_Evelyn_

Eve folded the letter up and tucked it into an envelope, and then tucked that into her breast pocket to drop off at the PX on her way to the obstacle course.

She didn’t feel bad about lying to her brother. If he knew the way it really was, he would just start nagging her to go home. And it wasn’t as though she’d lied about all of it.

Eve finished her last few bites and got up from her still empty table. She needed to leave early if she wanted to hit the PX before hand-to-hand.

She still got her ass handed to her in close combat fighting though. Every single time. She wasn't expected to win every fight, but she was expected to be able to hold her own. With each bout she lost, she felt the noose tightening, washing out impending. She was just not as strong as the boys.

Her shoulder – which still throbbed and ached at the littlest bit of pressure – was taking its sweet time healing up. Their constant training regime didn’t help. She wished there was time to rest it properly, but it was keep up or washout with Sobel. If she didn't straighten up and pass, prove that she could use her size to her advantage some way, Sobel wouldn’t hesitate. She would get tossed out on her ear, after coming so far…

Eve would be damned if she washed out now after surviving probation.

She’d tried watching everyone else while they were doing exhibition matches, trying to glean something – anything – of value, and then tried to force her body to copy poorly remembered stances and blocks when she was on her own, out of the way of prying eyes.

It wasn’t helping.

She'd just have to swallow her pride and ask for help.

She wasn’t looking forward to it.

-

Eve started by finding Roe.

It was easy enough catching him with no one around. The man was a loner, preferring his own company more often than being rowdy with the other men. It was something Eve appreciated about him. He was a place of quiet when everything else was chaos.

That afternoon, she sought him out.

Roe had found a peaceful and isolated little bench and was smoking his way through a cigarette.

When she blocked his shadow, he looked up, and blew some smoke up and away. She asked if she could sit down with a nod, and he gave wordless permission.

When she was settled, Roe offered her a drag off his cigarette. She waved it away. She didn’t smoke.

The first time she tried smoking, she’d gone into such a violent coughing fit that she’d never touched it again.

Giving her a suit yourself shrug, Roe reclined and waited for Eve to formulate whatever it was she was here for.

When she still hadn’t spoken after he’d finished his cigarette, he knew something must be really bothering her.

“What is it?”

Eve pulled herself from her circling thoughts and just blurted out her question, “Can you help me with hand to hand?”

Roe blinked, surprised. “Prolly not. I do alright, but I’m not one to have much cause for fightin’. Not like you’ll need to do anyway.”

“Oh,” she said. “Ok.”

“I’ll ask around,” he offered, surprising himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” she countered. “It was stupid anyway. Thanks.”

And then she was gone.

Roe shook his head, baffled. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never figure out women.

He thought about her question, mulling it over. There’d been a bit of talk lately from some of the guys about maybe misjudging her. Roe figured Winters must’ve stuck his nose into it after Toye walloped her. Maybe those fellas might be lookin’ for a way to make amends with Buchanan. Maybe he’d give those fellas a nudge in the right direction.

-

“Buchanan, you’re with Liebgott!” barked Sobel.

Joe Liebgott winced, ignoring the jostling that the other boys gave him as he walked over to join his sparring partner for the afternoon.

She looked just about as eager for this as he felt.

Great.

They lined up in their two columns, so he could face her. She took a stance that almost physically hurt him to look at. She was so off balance a strong breeze could put her on her ass. What the hell was she thinking?

“For Pete sake!” he barked, when he could stand it no longer. Darting a glance at Sobel, and seizing the moment the Lieutenant was distracted, he invaded Eve’s personal space and started adjusting her posture and foot placement.

When he stepped back, she looked nonplussed, but she hadn’t slid back into that terrible stance from before.

“Feel that?” he asked, trying to keep a sneer on his face when he was genuinely curious.

Eve nodded, surprise still painted on her face.

Liebgott finally realized what he’d just done and looked around, praying no one had noticed.

The pair next to them, Guarnere and Toye, coincidentally enough, seemed to have kept anyone else from noticing. Toye looked over her stance and gave his nod of approval at the improvement.

She was still staring at him, but she hadn’t moved.

So he started to explain, first what she was doing wrong, and secondly, why he’d made his corrections.

“How your feet are on the ground, affects how your knees bend. It makes outmaneuvering the other guy a hell of a lot easier if you can move your feet faster than him. Keep your weight evenly distributed with your center of gravity. That should help your balance issues and keep you from over extending, all right?”

Buchanan looked at her own feet and then back at him, her cool blue eyes alight with understanding.

“Good,” said Liebgott. “Now hit me.”

Buchanan stepped into the punch, but he grabbed her arm first thing and pinned it behind her.

Then she fucking whimpered.

Liebgott let go as though she were a hot iron.

He watched the girl compose herself, gave her a moment, and hoped Sobel didn’t choose now to turn his attention back on this side of the line.

To her credit, it didn’t take her more than a moment to straighten and settle back into nearly the same stance he’d put her in.

He hadn’t expected her to get it completely right, and she hadn’t, but it was a better attempt than he thought it would be.

“You all right?” he asked, the question popping out without his consent.

She nodded and put up her dukes.

“You see what I did there?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“All right,” he said, “try again.”

Buchanan stepped into the punch again, but this time, didn’t throw all her weight behind it. She kept enough lightness in her feet that she was able to step out of the grab he tried and instead landed a blow to his forearm.

“Better,” he said, and settled in to the fighting pattern Sobel was leading.

She’d improved so much from so little instruction, it made his stomach knot. A corner of his mind wondered where else she wasn’t getting the right training.

It might get her killed, he realized as he caught her in a grapple.

"Not like that!" scolded Liebgott as Eve tried to get out of his grip. He kicked at her feet with his own toes. "You gotta use your goddamn feet! Keep your knees bent to keep your center of gravity low and balanced so you can use my weight against me when I lean on you like this.” He pressed down on her arms, letting up when she flinched.

Movement at the corner of his eye gave him an idea. “Watch Guarnere get out of Toye’s hold,” he said, disengaging.

Buchanan watched Guarnere pull a dirty trick and get around Toye’s grabbing hands. When the two men settled back for another go, Toye was grinning.

“It’s not about winning clean,” he said when he caught her looking. “It’s just about winning.”

Buchanan nodded and settled in again.

This time when he grabbed her, she dug into his hand with her sharp nails and made him bite his lip so he wouldn’t howl. His grip faltered and she danced out of his grip to sock him in the gut.

Guarnere was laughing at him when he finally managed to breathe.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!” barked Sobel, finally crashing the party. “Unauthorized deviations from the routine? Drop and give me fifty!”

The four of them dropped, and got to it. Sobel watched them get through a few before drifting away to shout at Alley for something.

Liebgott was used to doing pushups for punishment. It was a wonder the guy wasn’t more creative.

A glance out of the corner of his eye, just to check on the other’s progress, brought him up short. Buchanan was doing one armed pushups, probably out of self defense for that shoulder of hers, and though she wasn’t having an easy time of it – her face was bright red and she was panting like she’d been running a marathon – she was still doing them.

When Guarnere and Toye both stood up, finished with their own counts, Liebgott got up too, despite losing count somewhere along the way.

Buchanan stayed down for another thirty seconds, finishing the whole set to Liebgott’s admiration, before falling back in line to resume training.

Liebgott gave her a nod, and got back to it.

When Sobel finally let them go an hour later, Liebgott was looking forward to a shower before lunch.

He was trying to catch up to Alley, when she called his name.

"Liebgott!"

He tried to ignore her, but she caught up to him. The girl was persistent, he’d give her that.

“What?” he snarled at her. “Don’t think that just because I helped you that makes us friends-“

She cut him off. “I just wanted to say...” She took a deep breath and met his eyes.

“What?” he demanded. She stared into his eyes, judging him.

“Thanks.”

She booked it before he could even formulate the acidic retort on the tip of his tongue.

Guarnere started laughing at him again. “I’ll say this for the broad,” he clapped Liebgott on the shoulder, “she’s got guts.”

Liebgott shrugged off the hand and hustled to the bathrooms so he could get that shower. Maybe it would help him wash off the guilt he felt.

Fucking broad.

-

Eve spent the rest of the day avoiding Liebgott. It was pretty easy, since he seemed to have the same idea.

She forgot all about him once they hit the shooting range. Her weak shoulder meant that shooting a gun properly, the way she had all her life, was nearly impossible. The recoil that she usually absorbed with no problem, turned what was a dull ache into sheer agony.

The white hot pain caused her shots to veer wildly off center, which caused all its own frustration.

Fortunately, the M1 was a unique gun, in that it could be wielded with either the right or left hand, because the cartridges popped out the top and went flying far enough not to hit her when she was looking down the scope. She never could’ve shot her old rifle left handed – the hot casings would’ve hit her right in the face.

But just because she _could_ shoot the thing left handed, didn’t mean it was easy. What had once been the highlight of her week, had become an ordeal of epic proportion.

It was exceedingly frustrating, because she knew when she wasn’t doing things correctly, but she couldn’t manage to fix them. She had to learn how to operate her gun with her left hand, which meant that she had to adjust her entire stance, all of her calculations, and even the way she saw the target. Everything was backwards.

It was like starting over at the beginning, but worse, since she knew how easy it was when she could shoot with her gun on the right.

Not today though. Bolstered by her improvement in hand-to-hand, Eve was bound and determined to put in a good showing today.

She had improved from the first time she tried shooting south-paw, she knew, but she still had a long way to go before she was back up to snuff.

-

Thanksgiving Day was supposed to be a day of rest and feasting. Or so the announcement said. In fact, the rest of the 506 did just that, but not 2nd Battalion.

Instead, Major Strayer had decided that a two-day field exercise was just what they needed to stay sharp. This meant two days of long marches, attacks against defended positions, a gas alarm in the middle of the night, and the introduction of K rations. Eve thought food could never possibly be worse than the slop at the mess and they'd proven her wrong. She decided she hated commanders who wanted to prove their company was the best just because they could, by having the company do the work for them to get the praise.

She just didn't see the point to making the men miserable for no particular reason – especially not over a holiday.

Strayer then decided to make things even more interesting and added pig guts to the field for them to crawl through instead of a Thanksgiving feast.

It was completely disgusting, but it wasn't too terrible an exercise. They'd crawled under the wire before after all, so it wasn't difficult to do.

That said, she got some in her mouth and had ended up throwing up in disgust after she'd finished the course. She found somewhere extremely private to do so, not wanting to rekindle the rumors that she couldn't handle blood or guts. She could handle them just fine when they weren't in her mouth, thanks. She could even handle having to sit drenched in the gore until the shower was free and empty. When they finally were, she was tempted to just go in the stall and shower in her clothes.

She didn't, but it was a nice thought while she waited.

-

Eve was sitting in her usual spot, trying to endure the interesting texture of her chipped beef and toast.

A newspaper plopped onto the table in front of her. Eve looked first at it, then the snarling man who’d dropped it.

Eve took up the paper and looked for the article that must have set him off. Sure enough, there was her name, along with several wild accusations about what she was doing in the army surrounded by men.

“So how about it?” he sneered. “Go on and give us a kiss. Who knows what you and Sobel’ve gotten up to in the last month? Why else would he let a girl stay?”

Outraged, Eve couldn’t even utter a single word in response. When he leaned in, she slammed the paper into his chest and pushed hard, standing so he would no longer be above her, in a position of power. She got enough momentum going that he toppled backwards, landing on his ass.

He just laughed at her, a mean glint in his eye.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I wouldn’t want Sobel’s leftovers anyway.”

“Why don’t you mind your fucking manners,” said someone from behind her.

Eve glanced back, humiliated, to find Guarnere standing behind her. “Everyone knows Fox Company is full of shirt lifters, so why don’t you tuck your tail between your legs and fuck off back to the hole you came from?”

“Jesus, Guarnere. You’re defending her? She get to you too?”

“Get outta here,” Guarnere barked, taking a threatening step forward and raising a fist.

The man left.

Eve sat back down, watching Guarnere warily.

“What?” Guarnere barked at the guys still staring their way. “Show’s over.”

Eyes quickly turned back to whatever they were doing before.

Eve resumed eating. Guarnere’s intervention notwithstanding, this type of altercation was fairly typical for Eve. She’d learned it was best to just act as if nothing had happened.

“Budge over,” said Guarnere. Eve looked around at all the empty space, and wondered if he was serious about her budging over. Certainly there was plenty of bench for him to sit at, if he was so inclined, not that he would.

Eve was genuinely startled when Guarnere planted himself right next to her.

She waited, but it seemed he had nothing more to say. Instead, Guarnere just started eating as though that had been his intention in coming over all along. She stared at him. Honest-to-God she had no idea what the hell he was doing.

No one ate with her. Not since Winters and Nixon once months and months ago, and certainly not Guarnere who made no secret about hating her guts.

"What?" he asked after she'd managed to stare at him for two whole minutes without blinking or even noticing the bite of food halfway to her mouth. "Can't a fella eat without you gawkin' at 'im? Geeze."

Eve raised her eyebrows but refocused on her food. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away and give up whatever his intention was in coming over. Certainly it hadn’t been to ‘rescue’ her from the idiot from Fox. She’d borne several such incidents of the same kind without any protest from Easy Company. Guarnere had been known to start a few of those incidents himself, or add fuel to the fire.

But if he was content to just sit there, who was she to argue?

Careful to keep a few inches between them – so she didn’t accidentally bump him and set the man off – Eve went back to eating.

The next meal, Toye and Liebgott joined Guarnere. They started up a talk amongst themselves about tactics in a fistfight and comparing various stories. Eve ignored these additions to her table the way she had Guarnere, and ate like she thought of nothing else.

But she listened. She learned quickly that the men’s idea of a fair fight was a lot dirtier than anything they’d shown her before. The meal was littered with stories of various scraps the boys had gotten into.

It broke the ice.

Eve wasn't sure what exactly happened, but somewhere after that, the animosity from the other men died down. It was a gradual transition, but one day she woke up and realized that no one had outwardly harassed her in days. It seemed like the boys were slowly warming up to her.

Within the week, Eve's table was just as bustling and crowded as any in the mess hall. Her tablemates rotated, but were too caught up in their own antics to pay much attention to her silently applying herself to her meal. She still generally left early, but occasionally they drew her into conversations about homework assignments and various battlefield maneuvers they were supposed to be memorizing.

They even began to draw her into conversations late at night when they were polishing their boots. It seemed like she'd hit a turning point and now, each day that went by where she didn't complain and did the exact same thing they did made her go upwards in their regard.

It was a strange kind of truce, and Eve was wary of making too big a deal about it lest it disappear once mentioned, but it was nice not to be quite so lonely anymore, even if she still didn't have any friends and they barely tolerated her.

Now that she wasn't being quite so thoroughly rebuked, she had taken to following groups of guys from Easy around. There was a safety in numbers that hadn't been there before.

She wasn’t quite in the group – she hadn't earned that privilege yet – they still mostly left her alone, and she didn't have any real close friends, but she wasn't outright hated anymore, and was able to drift between groups and hover.

Eve tried to take advantage of it as much as possible. But unfortunately, once the E Company guys stopped tormenting her, the men in the other companies became even more determined to take up the slack. They found time to taunt her in private, daily.

She'd been cornered by two guys from Charlie when Toye, of all people, broke in.

"You got a problem, pal?" he said, getting right up in the instigator's face. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

Toye had at least three inches on the man and was still regarded as the best fighter in Toccoa, hands down. Eve was actually closer to the man’s size than Toye was.

The two men were so baffled by her unlikely defender that the instigator just shook his head and wander off, his buddy on his heels.

“Coward,” Toye hissed as the man ducked around a corner.

Eve turned to Toye, and opened her mouth.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, cutting her off before she could even get a full breath of air.

“I should,” she argued.

“Don’t,” he said. “What’s the fuck’s the matter with you?” he cried and then stormed off before she could say another word.

She stared at his back, thinking with despair, _One step forward, three steps back._

-

A month went by. Eve was still in a weird limbo of being under Easy Company’s protection, but absolutely not one-of-the-guys. It was bearable, and she was no longer isolated, which was a marked improvement to her first few months with Easy.

One night, Eve came back from training, utterly exhausted and ready to collapse on her bunk and sleep as long as she possibly could.

That was before she walked into the billet and saw the catastrophe that had wrecked the place. It looked like a tornado had swept through and flung everything in its path as far away from where it belonged as possible.

"What the fuck?" Liebgott said as he saw his rack littered with things he'd spent an hour organizing. "Goddamn fucking asshole!" He kicked his empty footlocker hard enough that it jumped into the air.

Eve darted past the shocked men to pick her things up. Her stuff had managed to get literally everywhere. She plucked her spare bra from where it was obscenely displayed at the head of her bunk, and – face bright red – began furiously repacking her footlocker.

Luz asked, “What the fuck is this thing?”

Eve glanced at him and burned with humiliation. She swiped her feminine hygiene product from his hand and raced to snag the rest of her feminine supplies strewn around the billet before someone else could make a similar exclamation. Someone had taken great glee in festooning the barracks in order to humiliate her further.

Her bunk mates graciously let her pick her stuff up first without further complaint or comment. Not even Cobb tried to say anything despite the cotton pad directly on his pillow, much to their mutual disgust.

Most of the guys were entrenched in fixing their own footlockers, and realizing that some of their stuff had gone missing.

Tipper in the corner was lamenting the loss of a stack of letters he was saving until he could afford the stamps to ship them out.

Another fellow was frantically searching for his magazine stash.

Eve focused on finding her stuff. A few of the less busy guys helped point her in the direction of her wayward items. No one touched her things after Luz, for which she was immensely grateful.

A month ago, no one would have even bothered pointing them out.

Not saying a word beyond the private cursing Eve repacked her gear.

The fact that the boys were missing things too, and it wasn’t just her things strewn about meant that this wasn’t a prank just for her. No, Sobel must have decided to do an inspection, and wrecked the room to find contraband.

As she took further stock of the room at large, she realized that some bunks were completely cleaned out that hadn't been this morning. People had gone home for this surprise.

Repacking her things with resignation, Eve wished an itch in an unpleasant place on Sobel.

-

The next pass she had – which was two weekends later due to several individual, invisible, infractions resulting in all of E Company losing their weekend passes – Eve went into Toccoa, Georgia to the local market and found a female seamstress. She paid the woman to make up some discrete bags to place her feminine items in for convenience and washing sake.

It cost her five dollars, but two weeks later, she had three army green bags.

The next time Sobel trashed the barracks, he left those bags packed, but in various and strange locations.

It caused a few grumblings, since this was unequal treatment in favor of the girl, but Eve privately thought the guys were relieved her stuff wasn't all over the room anymore, and were just bitching about it to bitch.

-

Luz would never admit it, but he figured he’d been completely wrong about Evelyn Buchanan.

She was a quiet, mellow sort of girl. It could be almost soothing to just yammer on at her because she was good at listening to whatever he happened to have to say.

But since that day, months ago now, when she’d woken up furious with him for no apparent reason, he’d felt like he’d screwed something up. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, because George Luz liked to think he was a good person. Ask anyone in Toccoa and they’d probably agree. Anyone but Eve, that is.

The most frustrating bit was that he genuinely didn’t know what happened. One day it was like a switch being flipped and she was completely frigid with him.

Sure she’d thawed since then, but there was always some distance between them that he couldn’t seem to breach.

His resolve to fix things only strengthened as he watched her open up to other members of Easy Company.

Spying a well-worn deck of cards, he invited her to join in the poker game he’d started up for the sole purpose of inviting her to play.

He soon realized his mistake as she cleaned up the table.

"Fuck, Buchanan," said Martin, a shorter man with enough sarcasm to fill the ocean. He was from first platoon, but he was good friends with a lot of the guys. Could get you anything you asked for, Martin could. "Where the hell'd you get so good?"

She smiled like a shark who’d scented blood in the water, "Wouldn't you like to know, Martin."

"You're cheating!" cried Luz after she won the fifth hand in a row.

She smiled at him, sweetly this time, all sugar and honey, the picture of a southern belle despite her filthy ODs. "Prove it, darlin'."

Luz gave her a speculative glare but couldn't figure it out. He lasted another three hands before he bowed out. "Before you take next month's pay too," he grumbled.

"Pleasure doing business with you," said Evelyn, standing up from the table.

She smiled at him, but it seemed bitter somehow.

A stray thought drifted across his mind as he watched Eve leave the room with the unexpected bounty, a swing to her step that had been missing ever since she hopped off the train at Toccoa.

_I wonder if she knows about my betting ring?_

As soon as he’d thought it, Luz knew in his gut that he was right. Somehow, Eve had discovered the betting, and his part in it.

He wondered why it felt like he’d lost a friend.

He hadn’t even really liked her, had he?

-

After the poker game, Eve found herself trading with the boys. She soon learned what had value, and what didn’t. Eve made good use of her cigarettes, hoarding them to use as bribes since she didn’t smoke. The Army issued seven packs a week to each man, which was sufficient for all but the most avid smokers. Luz for example, could take three packs for himself in one day, easy, which meant that he went through more than two smokes an hour.

Most of the guys on base smoked, some just for something to do with the other guys, some from long ingrained habits. Unless they were on a Friday night march, the guys constantly had cigarettes dangling from their lips. Sometimes it felt like she was the only person on the entire base who didn’t, though she’d never seen Sergeant Lipton smoke, or Lieutenant Winters for that matter.

Soon those in need of a smoke realized they could trade their chocolate bars with Eve. She kept a stockpile just in case, though, of both chocolate and cigarettes.

-

She was being singled out and dressed down. Again.

“Why are you here, Buchanan?” Sobel demanded.

"I want to be in the Airborne, sir!"

He glared at her. She was in full gear from a long hike they'd just gotten back from, she couldn't recall why she was being singled out now when she hadn't been on the hike, but here she was. "You have fifty minutes to the top and back, and I will be watching you." She stared at him, nearly in horror, but it was closer to shock and rage rather than fear. "What are you waiting for?"

She saluted him and turned back towards the mountain. She didn't need to turn back to feel his and her Company's eyes drilling into her back. She paced herself. She'd done it in under forty-three minutes once, no need to rush to the top too quickly, plus her feet were absolutely killing her.

She'd just made it to the half-way-up-the-hill curve before she heard the pounding of boots behind her. She was about to move over to the side of the road, out of the way of whoever was running up the mountain, when three men joined her. She recognized Shifty, Popeye Wynn and Sergeant Floyd Talbert from First Platoon. They were good guys, and Eve happily slid out of the way.

But rather than race past her with good-natured teasing as they might’ve done on any other day, the men slowed down and matched her pace.

She blinked in surprise as Shifty grinned at her and kept easy pace. Talbert and Popeye easily flanked them and kept up.

Eve ducked her head and kept going. No one had ever done anything like this for her before, no one had ever volunteered their own free time – when they should all be resting up for whatever Sobel and the Army were going to throw at them next.

Was it a support of solidarity? Did they actually want her to succeed and stay? It could be that they just wanted to run up the hill anyway as the guys were wont to do when they weren't being ordered to do it, or that they wanted to make sure that she actually ran the whole thing. Either way, their motives puzzled her.

Despite her confusion, she accepted their company without protest and fell into an easy pace with them.

For the first time, Eve felt like she wasn't in this alone.

She idly wondered how long it would last.

-

Eve’s shooting improved over the next few months until she knew she was just as proficient with her left hand as she’d ever been with her right on her M1, perhaps even more proficient because she knew all the nuances of the gun better with her left side.

She managed to empty three whole clips into the bull’s-eye in less than two minutes, the circumference barely the spread of a quarter.

“Neat trick,” commented the fellow next to her. His name was Alley. She knew him because he was always digging holes for Sobel and filling them back in because of some innocuous infraction or other. She thought he might be Liebgott’s friend.

Not knowing what to say, she gave him a nod and went back to work trying to replicate the feat.

She’d managed to get back in shape with the gun just in time. Not two days after making those shots, Colonel Sink announced the people who’d been awarded the title of Expert Marksman.

Eve’s name was on the list. It was at the bottom of the list, but it was on there.

It meant a four-dollar increase in pay. But it also meant that Eve had proved herself as more than just a girl trying to hack it as a man. If she could learn to shoot left handed, she felt like she could accomplish anything.

She started feeling like a soldier.

-

One afternoon, the cooks served them spaghetti for lunch. Captain Sobel had read a weather report indicating rain all afternoon so they'd been scheduled for lessons; PT was canceled.

Eve figured it was some kind of reward or something to celebrate his promotion to Captain.

Eve spied Winters in the kitchen – where he was spending his first day as XO of Easy Company by playing Mess Supply Officer.

It was embarrassing to admit, even to herself, but she had a crush on Lieutenant Winters that wouldn’t go away. She did the only thing she could do, and ignored it to the best of her ability, striving to act indifferent to him, smothering her feelings with the formality between their ranks.

Sure he was attractive, but perhaps no more than a lot of the men here, certainly Nixon was more handsome, but Winters was kind. It would be different if she didn’t genuinely liked the man. He was an amazing tactician and he welcomed her with open arms to his Platoon, providing a safe harbor in choppy seas if she was going to be metaphorical about it. In some ways, she respected him far too much for anything to ever work between them, and she knew it, so she tried her damnedest to treat him like everyone else.

Eve had been worried, joining the army, that she might have the misfortune of falling in love with one of the other soldiers.

It was something she’d vowed to never, ever do.

And while she could appreciate the boys’ appearance in an abstract way – there were a lot of very attractive men at Camp Toccoa – she never let any indication of such thoughts pass her face. Sometimes they would turn at a certain angle, and the thought _"Gosh, he's attractive,"_ would dart across her mind, a reminder of something she'd already acknowledged.

But it was hard to be attracted to men who were such bastards. Some were better than others, she had to admit, but for the most part: bastards.

So whenever her traitorous heart started beating faster, or her face started to tingle when Winters smiled at her, she squashed the emotion ruthlessly, and avoided him. She thought she was doing pretty well so far.

Eve did her best to appear indifferent as she passed through for her portion of "army noodles and ketchup" as Perconte said.

Winters, kind man that he was, smiled at her. She managed to return the smile, trying not to let her strain show. She genuinely liked the guy after all. He was one of the few people who’d treated her like she was capable of being a soldier.

But she couldn’t love him. She wouldn’t.

Eve left the line and headed for the chaos that was the dining hall.

In the last few months, her table had been thoroughly invaded and all her coveted elbow room lost.

Eve had soon found herself jockeying for a seat just like any of the other guys.

This was its own terrifying experience. Each time she stood there with her tray trying to find a place to sit, nerves would swamp her. She knew she wasn’t welcomed by everyone, and certainly not every day.

But she swallowed this down, every time, and made her feet take her forward.

Generally, she found a spot by Guarnere, who had somewhere along the line, quietly started looking out for her. She wasn’t sure when that happened, or what prompted his change of heart, but she wasn’t stupid enough to ask either.

It was an adjustment, going from complete isolation to being with Guarnere at the center of the table, and not something she’d ever have predicted.

She was used to it outside the army; you didn't grow up with siblings without becoming used to rowdy meals. But it was different being surrounded by guys she had to keep her guard up around.

She still wasn’t buying the sudden change of heart, carefully guarding herself by remembering the last five months of hell.

Various grumblings around about the food were ignored in favor of savoring the bliss of something that didn't taste like uncooked flour.

Eve didn't waste her breath complaining about the color or taste of the food. Even if it wasn’t what spaghetti was “supposed to taste like” it was still better than a good ninety percent of the food she'd eaten in this mess hall. She was starving and this at least resembled tasting like tomatoes.

It was enough just listening to Perconte bemoaning his mother’s prize winning meat sauce from her other side.

Eve was packing away just as much as the fellas were, dragging a hunk of bread through whatever dredges of sauce were left. Though, she privately agreed with Perconte, calling it spaghetti was a mortal sin.

Hoobler, from the table behind them, also hearing the short Italian’s complaints, squashing her to get some of Perconte's abused share was less welcome. She braced herself against the table, trying not to wear the orange sauce, nervous as all hell that he wouldn’t let up until she was chest down in the sauce as had happened on numerous occasions. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the day doing laundry when she could be sleeping.

Guarnere and Perconte finally managed to push him away.

"Hey! Get outta here!" barked Guarnere as Perconte swatted the invading arm.

A whistle pierced through the hall, a dreaded warning for what was to come. Captain Sobel barged into the mess screaming: "ORDER'S CHANGED, GET UP!"

Everyone shot to their feet, mouths still open and chewing, grabbing their remaining bread to cram into their pockets for later. Some stared at the crap spaghetti impersonation longingly, Eve included. Goddamn Sobel.

"Lectures are canceled; Easy Company is running up Currahee!" Sobel screamed. "MOVE, MOVE! Three miles up; three miles down! HI-YO SILVER! Let's go, let's go!"

Eve was nearly swallowed whole in the rush for the door to appease the asshole who'd ruined her lunch. She caught the quiet rage in Winters eyes as he watched them file out the door but was in too much of a hurry to get on her PT gear to do anything other than notice it.

-

"You should pack up your ears and go home!"

Eve vaguely heard Sobel yelling at Hoobler in front of her, but she was too busy _not_ puking to give a damn.

Sobel moved down the line to where the others were trying just as hard not to puke. Some didn't manage and she had to look down to watch that she didn't step in the sticky slime and fall, which didn't make not throwing up any easier.

After another ten minutes, several offers for an ambulance to take them back, which would wash them out of the Airborne, Eve gave up the fight and hunched over while she puked, spraying chunks of noodles and congealed red grease all over her boots and legs, still marching all the while.

Her legs didn’t stop moving, she didn't stop running, but it was the most disgusting experience having the noodles come back up her esophagus.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to eat spaghetti again.

Stomach empty, she was much more able to focus, though she tried not to focus too hard on the orange now covering her white PT shirt. She'd be at it for hours before the stain came out.

From up in the column Luz started singing. The whole company was singing by the third word, Eve included.

 _"We pull upon the risers,_  
_We fall upon the grass._  
_We never land upon our feet,_  
_We always hit our ass._  
_Highty-tighty, Christ Almighty,_  
_Who the hell are we?_  
_Zim-zam, goddamn,_  
_We're Airborne Infantry!_  
_We pull upon the risers,_  
_We fall upon the grass._  
_We never land upon our feet,_  
_We always hit our ass._  
_Highty-tighty, Christ Almighty,_  
_Who the hell are we?_  
_Zim-zam, goddamn,_  
_We're Airborne Infantry!"_

-

The next day, Eve managed to pin Malarkey to the floor in hand-to-hand, without fighting dirty.

Liebgott gave her a satisfied nod afterwards. “Not bad, for a dame,” he drawled.

She glared at him. “I have a name; it’s not ‘dame’.”

He laughed at her and slung his arm across his shoulder. “Sure do,” he agreed. “Let’s go get some chow, Ev.”

Evelyn shifted, unsure what to do about the arm around her shoulder. It was certainly more contact than she’d had since joining the army. Plus, he smelled awful.

“Ev?” she asked, when she finally processed what he’d called her.

He just grinned and tugged her along.

-

When the announcement came that the 506 was leaving Camp Toccoa, Eve packed her stuff-sack with no small amount of reverence.

She had survived it. She wasn’t a paratrooper yet – she could still wash out – but she’d beaten the odds already to get so far.

Evelyn would miss this place, she realized with surprise. Even a week ago, she would’ve sworn she’d always hate this place. She’d gone through hell here; but the hell she knew was always preferable to the unknown; and Eve knew that despite her hatred for running that stupid hill, she’d never forget it.

They were heading to Fort Benning. It was a much larger facility than Toccoa, and had equipment specialized for jump training. Eve had already experienced mock-jumps, but they’d geared it towards getting comfortable with exiting a plane from only five feet off the ground. Sobel promised that their new facility had jump-towers over thirty feet tall.

She was looking forward to it.

Eve joined the rest of Easy Company in the assembly area with her sack draped over her shoulder, expecting to head out for the train depot, or load up in trucks bound for Fort Benning.

That became a distant dream as Lieutenant Colonel Strayer announced that Second Battalion was not going to be taking the train with First, or even the trucks with Third. Instead, Second was going to march the entirety of the 118 miles to Fort Benning in order to beat the new world record the Japs had set – 100 miles in 72 hours – by marching farther in less time; or they were going to die trying.

And they were going to do it in full gear.

They set out at 0700 on December 1st. Eve and the rest of Easy Company were joined by Dog, Fox, and Battalion HQ as they set out, each man wearing all of his gear and carrying his weapon. The riflemen, and thus Eve, had it far easier than say Gordon – carrying a machine gun – or Malarkey who was in the mortar squad.

But that did not mean that the walk would be easy.

Strayer had specifically chosen a route consisting of minimally visible roads in the back country of Georgia.

The hike was miserable.

Breaks were infrequent, and December meant horrible weather. Freezing rain and snow made the already rough roads slippery and treacherous.

The guys at the back had a much rougher time slogging through the mud than Battalion HQ up front.

Eve was fortunate enough to be somewhere in the middle where the mud only stuck midway up her foot rather than ankle deep or worse. Each step involved yanking her shoes from a vacuum of sucking muck.

It was a miserable way to spend the day.

Most of the hushed conversation around her focused on what Second Battalion had done to deserve this punishment. The general consensus was that it was all Sobel’s doing as a new method of torture.

Eve kept her own opinion quiet. Personally, she figured they’d been selected because Second was the best. They were the fittest Battalion in the entire 506 and thus the most likely to make the march alive and on time – which was the most important thing.

She almost wished she were with some other Battalion in order to avoid this stupid, pointless ego boost. But she had wanted to be among the best, and her Colonel had picked her Battalion as the best of his whole Regiment.

There was a compliment in there somewhere, but she was just too tired to figure out what exactly it was.

They finally stopped for the night around 2300. Strayer had been trying to find a campsite for the last half an hour or so and had finally decided to park the Battalion on the side of a bald hill. Eve wondered if he’d done it purposefully, or if he’d just never been camping before.

The ideal spot would’ve been flat ground surrounded by trees to keep the wind out. They’d passed several of those spots. Instead, Strayer had picked the barest, most windswept hill he could find.

By the end of that first day, they’d covered 40 miles. Eve’s feet felt like they were going to fall off. Her back ached, she felt frozen stiff, and she just wanted to pass out. The cold was so bad it made her bones ache, and the temperature just kept dropping.

Eve unrolled her bag and gingerly climbed in after she’d shed just her boots. She did her best as she crawled in to keep her blistered feet off the ground. Her arms shook as she collapsed down and curled into a tight ball to try to gain heat faster. The bag felt like she’d crawled into an ice bath, but she was just grateful to have it at all. They could be out here with blankets or be in foxholes.

“Hey, Buchanan?” someone whispered.

She rolled over in her sleep sack, trembling with the cold. She’d been trying to sleep for half an hour and was no closer to being warm than when she’d first got in.

“Yeah?” she whispered back. She literally had no idea who was sacking out next to her, nor did she much care.

“You cold?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she hissed, and rolled back over to try and shiver herself further into the ground.

“I heard that if you put your jump gloves on your feet it’ll keep you warm.”

“You don’t say?” said Eve, disinclined to believe him.

There was a chance he was just screwing with her, just to see if he could get her to actually put her gloves on her feet.

But Eve was cold enough to give anything a shot, and honestly too cold to give a damn what she looked like or if they laughed at her in the morning as long as it worked.

It took her less than a minute to pull the gloves off her hands and put them on over her socks.

They fit somewhat haphazardly on her frigid toes, and she felt a little ridiculous, but it wasn’t like anyone could see her.

And then, amazingly within a few minutes she actually began to feel warmer. _Huh,_ she thought, surprised, _it actually worked._

“Thanks,” she whispered at the man who’d decided to help her. The shivering that wracked her body stopped and her eyelids finally got heavy.

She was out before she heard if whoever he was replied.

-

They moved out at 0600 sharp the next morning.

Overnight, frost had set in and glued everything to the ground. Eve spent a good five minutes hacking away at the ice trapping her rifle with a stick before she was able to pry it up. Malarkey appropriated the stick after that and set about prying his mortar loose. It may have made further rounds, but she was too busy with other things to notice.

Trying to get her boots back on her feet was another interesting chore. Her feet had swollen from the march, so she had to relace her boots entirely to get the frozen leather to fit.

Any hope she might’ve had for a hot breakfast was squashed with the disbursement of bread smeared with jam and butter. Eve ate her food and was grateful for it. They could have left off the jam.

Though part of her had already known it would be, the second day was infinitely more challenging than the first. She spent the first half of the day thawing out frozen muscles and the rest grimacing and regretting that her feet had thawed enough to hurt again.

Eve was still a little astounded at how well wearing her gloves on her feet had worked last night and quickly resolved to stock up on socks if she ever made it to Fort Benning. The goal seemed to get less likely with each hour.

She forced herself to keep going despite the pain she was in. It built up in her mind, becoming bigger and sharper than it really was with each onward step.

To get her mind off it, she started singing the Airborne Infantry song. The men joined her quickly and just like that, she could walk a little further.

They managed another 40 miles on the second day, which made 80 miles in total. There were only 38 miles left.

After another miserable night, Eve woke up absolutely certain that she’d never walk again. She hadn’t even managed to get her boots off, sleeping with them on. It meant that she spent the night shivering.

The third day was the most difficult day by far.

The last twenty miles into Atlanta were on the highway. Mud was hard to walk on, but cement was much more difficult, particularly on her sore joints. Each step sent pain through her blisters and into her brain like a lance.

Some of the other guys swapped Malarkey’s mortar around amongst them to give the man some relief. Last night his feet had been bleeding. By the time they hit Atlanta he – and a few others who hadn’t been whisked away by the ambulance that had been trailing them – was damn near crawling.

And yet somehow, as they walked into town and heard the band playing, everyone’s spine straightened. It was as if the cheering crowd and joyful marching music lifted the pain and misery away and left the baddest fuckers in the entire world.

They’d crushed Japan’s record 100 mile march.

Later Eve found out that they managed 118 miles in 75 hours. They’d only halted for 33 hours and 30 minutes of that, including the time they spent eating, sleeping, setting up, and breaking down camp.

3rd Platoon – who hadn’t lost a single man to injury or the ambulance – was allowed to lead the way into Atlanta.

Each person present, not just those marching, felt the elation and pride in their country.  
The sense of being a part of something so much bigger than herself overwhelmed her. She’d just helped Easy Company and the 506 march into the history books.

Not bad for a bunch of grunts in training.

When the newspapers rolled out with headlines proclaiming the 506’s triumph over the Japs’ record, the article was a stark disappointment to the men as it quickly overlooked their accomplishments as a unit and had turned into a speculative piece focused on the novelty of Eve still being in the army.

It made Eve miserable. This was Second Battalion’s moment. And because of Eve, an accomplishment that should have brought them together, had been completely overshadowed by her gender.

It was absolutely not what she needed. It made the divide between her and her company that much deeper. At this point, Eve felt like she would never to be accepted by the men.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. See you then!


	7. Jumping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve made progress with the boys, and Easy Company finally leaves Toccoa. 
> 
> "If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." - J.K. Rowling
> 
> "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." - Friedrich Nietzsche
> 
> Now: Training reaches it's peak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Anonymous1O1, FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Minerva300

-Chapter 7-

Eve stood, awash with shame as Captain Sobel gripped her sleeve and with two sharp tugs ripped the patch from her arm. With a hard look in his eye, he then moved on to the patch on her hat.

It was a drumming out ceremony, meant to dishonor those who couldn’t cut it.

Eve tried not to cry, tried not to wince as every tug on her uniform symbolized to everyone else that she was not cut out for being a soldier.

She had failed.

She couldn’t remember why she’d failed, or how. Maybe she’d frozen up in the air, maybe she’d failed to finish one of the impossible tasks Sobel had demanded of them.

It didn’t matter in the end.

Finished, Sobel stepped back.

A gun barrel pressed into the small of her back and prodded her forward.

Eve stumbled.

Drums pounded a mournful beat as she was marched – at gun point – to a waiting truck that already had her bag tossed in the back.

It was over –

Eve woke up, her body drenched in sweat.

_Thank God. It was just a dream._

She turned over in her bunk and tried not to throw up as she relived the shame of her dream.

Eve and the rest of Second Battalion had been forced to watch such a ceremony yesterday.

The man they’d stripped of his rank, had walked off the field as though he was in a trance. It was one of several ceremonies she’d endured, designed to humiliate those who’d failed to live up to the standard of paratroopers.

They’d been disgraced and sent back to the infantry.

For Eve, there was no such option.

The threat haunted her. She was sure it haunted everyone.

-

First Battalion arrived at Fort Benning after a leisurely train ride days ahead of Easy Company. When Second Battalion finally arrived, they dived right into Stage B of jump training because First and Third had shown up the jumpmaster sergeants completely with their level of fitness. The other two Battalions in the 506th had run literal circles around the poor bastards for two days until the sergeants finally admitted defeat. They just couldn't keep up.

This meant that Second Battalion, including Easy Company, got to skip the week of "intense" physical training. Eve almost wished that Second had been presented with whatever the jumpmasters considered intense, just to see the difference.

If Eve thought Benning would be easier than Toccoa now that their fitness wasn't in question, she was sadly disappointed. What it actually meant was sitting through lessons. A lot of lessons.

Benning was far more miserable than Toccoa had ever been.

They were assigned to squads upon arriving, and their numbers were filled out with boys from other camps, all gearing towards earning their wings and the right to call themselves paratroopers.

Already there was a division between the new guys coming in and those who’d been through the tough training at Toccoa.

Eve wasn’t sure where she really fit. She was a part of the Toccoa group, but it was still generally assumed that she’d skated her way through the hard work.

As though anyone could escape Sobel’s vindictive eye.

The taunts and the rumors cropped back up, and the hazing resumed whenever she found herself alone.

There was something like a safe harbor with the Toccoa veterans, because they at least were tired of harassing her. But no one seemed particularly inclined to stop anyone else from doing it either.

That was, until Sobel divided them into permanent squads, where if they failed, they failed as a team; and Sobel was determined to drive this point home.

So when Eve’s canteen went missing for inspection one morning, after a twenty mile night march the night before, and another thirty miles back to Benning in a circular loop, Sobel, hard-nosed bastard that he was, noticed right away.

“Buchanan! Where is your canteen? Have you lost your canteen?”

“No excuse, sir,” Eve said, resigned.

“You and your squad will find that canteen, even if you have to repeat all twenty miles of last night’s march. You will meet us back at base before sunset or I will send each and every last one of you back home to your mommy’s! Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they barked.

“Move out!”

Eve ignored the dirty looks as she turned back towards their last campsite. There was nothing she could do but pray that the bastard who’d swiped her canteen had left somewhere predictable.

“Fuck this shit,” complained Liebgott as he crashed through the same underbrush they’d just trekked through five minutes ago.

Eve ignored him and kept walking, keeping an ear on the progress of the departing company. She paused when they were just beyond Sobel’s range of hearing and stopped.

“What are you doing, Buchanan?” asked Sergeant Harris. He was the leader of her squad. The man didn’t seem to like her, at all, but neither was he a fan of Sobel. Harris was from the Navy, and some of the other guys called him “Salty”, but he was a solid non-commissioned officer.

“Waiting, sir,” Eve answered.

“For what?” he asked, already impatient.

“Sir, I know I didn’t leave my canteen anywhere up this road. I’m sure it will show up at camp as soon as Easy Company moves out.”

“We’re not going to disobey orders on a whim, Private,” he said, and started heading back up the road.

“Five minutes, sir,” she pleaded.

He glanced at her, and then looked around at the tired men.

“Malarkey,” he said, calling out the redheaded Irish kid. “What do you think?”

The kid glanced at Eve, “Five minutes can’t hurt, sir. I say we trust her.”

Harris took stock of the squad again and nodded. “Five minutes, but if you’re wrong Buchanan, I’ll put you on latrine duty for a week.”

“Yes, sir.”

When they found the canteen where the men had dug their latrine, Eve felt resigned as she strapped it back on her belt. She couldn’t drink any of the tainted water now.

After that night, rather suddenly, all shenanigans towards Eve’s gear ceased.

Where once, Eve could count on to losing at least one bit of gear whenever they had any field work – her rations were the most common target, but her canteen and bayonet disappeared too – now, someone in her squad t turned up with the item before she – or Sobel – could miss it.

She had no idea how they managed to keep on top of her gear better than she did, but she was just grateful to have avoided the extra work Sobel would’ve piled on.

-

They started jump training on a course aptly named the Frying Pan. They would need to survive five training jumps before they would earn their jump wings and become certified paratroopers. This was the first step towards that goal. They finally had a visible measure, a purpose to all the sweat and pain they’d put in for their muscles.

They endlessly strapped the prospective paratroopers into rigs trying to simulate the way a parachute handled. It was designed for them to learn how to steer once they’d managed to leave the aircraft. There would be an average of eight seconds from the time she left the plane to when she’d hit the ground, so steering was more to keep her out of trees than to get her to the drop zone. Hitting the drop zone was the pilot’s job; Eve’s was not to get herself killed before or after she hit the ground.

Sobel had a new way to torture them, a terrifying 35-foot drop designed to simulate both the feel of falling from a height with a chute yanking your shoulders from their sockets, and then the jarring impact of the ground. Most terrifying of all was the thin strap wrapped around her chest for safety purposes.

The officers started ambushing them from seemingly thin air. Eve learned to be prepared to sink into the “ready position” at any moment. The position involved crouching down with her legs locked together and her fists clenched like she was holding the risers.

“Like you’re taking a shit,” Luz pointed out, to much laughter.

Then she had to count off, “one-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand, four-thousand,” whilst she was in this position. The officers seemed to have no greater pleasure than appearing at the most inconvenient times and calling “ready position”. Sometimes, the officers had her simulate a chute failure, wherein she had to mime opening her second chute and get back into the position until they were satisfied. It was a very awkward affair.

The countless leaps out of hollow plane shells – this time only feet from the ground rather than the lofty tower – to make the position they were to take at the door, and how they were to exit the plane, second nature.

The men who’d been selected to become medics for Easy Company were segregated off to do additional training now that they’d all passed their fitness readiness evaluations. This meant that Eve saw a lot less of Roe, much to her regret. He had become as close to a friend as she had out here, and she missed his quiet presence.

But perhaps worst of all were the hundreds of repetitions of packing and repacking the chutes and reserve chutes they’d be using for their live jumps from actual planes thousands of feet in the air.

All this combined with Sobel’s ever-loving attention to their PT and raids on their barracks for contraband made the months at Benning some of the most nerve-wracking Eve had ever experienced.

It was only after they’d passed their examinations, and more lessons than Eve could count, that they were finally cleared to go up in planes.

The night before her first jump, Eve and the Easy boys packed and repacked their parachutes a couple dozen times to get it just right, and then spent all night restlessly turning over all the ways they might’ve packed it wrong.

She wasn’t the only one to get up in the middle of the night to repack the chute just one more time – just to be sure it would open the right way.

It was the only thing that Eve could make herself think about since she was absolutely not thinking about all the other ways she could get killed jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.

-

All the fear that had kept her tossing all night vanished the moment she got into the plane. Replacing it was a shocking amount of adrenaline that morphed, as much to Eve’s surprise as anyone else’s, to gleeful eagerness.

She ended up having to ask for Roe’s help into her harness, since no one else wanted to do it whatsoever.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be helping her cinch the straps between her legs, but he did so stoically, and with minimal catcalls from the other men.

In light of the straps location, Eve didn’t even bother offering to help anyone else.

From the conversations she overheard, the harnesses were very tight around certain treasured parts of the male anatomy.

If she found any vindictive pleasure in that – and she did – she kept it hidden.

Roe gave her a displeased look anyway, apparently guessing her inner glee at his discomfort as he waddled back a step to check that everything looked right.

She graced him with a sweet smile that had him rolling his eyes, and followed him into the plane.

By the time they were actually in the air, Eve was so excited her leg bounced the whole way to the drop zone, a huge smile on her face.

This was Eve’s first time in an airplane, and here she was, ready to jump out. She figured she was a little manic, but she was so excited she thought her skin would burst trying to contain it.

She got several worried looks from the other men in her plane, including Roe, but ignored them in favor of her own elation. _This is going to be so much fun! Well, if my chute opens. But if it doesn’t, well, at least I won’t have to worry about it for too long._

The light switched on, a bright red-orange glow indicating they were nearing their intended drop zone.

“GET READY!!!” At the jumpmaster’s signal, she stood with her fellows, slotting neatly into her place in line. Eve hooked her line to the central cable designed to yank back the cover of her chute and deploy her canopy fully once she’d cleared the plane.

“HOOK UP!” The jumpmaster raised a curled index finger to indicate the metal clip attached to her bag. She grabbed it and connected it to the line. If it weren’t connected properly, the chute wouldn’t deploy and she’d be mincemeat on the ground.

“EQUIPMENT CHECK!” Eve ran her eyes and hands over the pack in front of her, making sure that all loose cables and flaps were secured, nothing to get caught on the side of the plane or the chute to cut the poor sap in half or strangle him.

“SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!”

The vague sound of men shouting barely reached her over the hum of the propellers. She waited until she felt the hand slap her arm and a “SIX OKAY!” screamed in the general direction of her ear.

“FIVE OKAY!” She said, passing along the burst eardrum from the schmuck behind her and patting the guy in front of hers’ arm. She presumed the rest of the line finished in order, but couldn’t really hear.

The guy in front of her lurched forward. She moved after him instinctively, trying to keep her feet. She felt like she was lurching about, rather than walking forward, as the plane bucked and rolled beneath her feet. The pilots weren’t exactly holding the aircraft steady.

She fought to keep her balance, desperately trying not to fall backwards on the man behind her or to jostle the man in front of her before he disappeared out the door.

Suddenly, all she could see was the blinding sky flooding her eyes and making them water. She tried to find the horizon, to give her something to focus on that wasn’t the ground as she’d been trained. She couldn’t see anyways, so the distance to the ground, some thousands of feet, wouldn’t have scared her out of jumping.

She heard the jumpmaster screaming “GO!” into her ear. All it took was one step, a mere kick of her leg, as she grabbed the outer edges of the door and flung herself out. The wind grabbed her leg and yanked her from the plane.

Her training paid off. Her body, remembering the feeling of shock that often accompanied getting into the ready position, did so automatically once she hit the air. One-thousand, two-thousand, three-thousand, four-thousand –

Her upper body tried to separate itself from the rest of her as her parachute yanked her from her ready position, fully deployed. She grabbed the risers that would allow her to steer and looked around in delirious wonder. Hundreds of white umbrellas littered the sky like falling clouds. She looked up at her own white umbrella. It was a sight she wouldn’t soon forget.

She started laughing as she steered towards some of the other guys enjoying the closest sensation to flight she’d ever get to experience.

If she had to pick one word to describe it, it would be _freedom_.

She landed with a smack, tucking in and rolling as she’d been taught before springing up and gathering the huge white balloon that was trying to drag her across the field. Next time they’d be jumping with gear, which meant that she’d have another eighty pounds to weigh her down and hopefully keep her from being yanked across the field. _Hey, there’s a thought, maybe they gave me so much heavy crap so the parachute can’t carry me away once I hit the ground?_

After a moment of genuine consideration, Eve discarded the thought. It was far too ingenious for the army to have come up with it.

Far more likely that the Army was trying to get her prepared for any emergency by getting her over prepared. And, as she looked around the field, the extra weight the guys had didn’t seem to help keep them from being dragged about by their deployed chutes.

 _Must be practice is the key,_ she thought as she focused on getting the bundle of silk into her arms.

She couldn’t stop smiling. Her cheeks were starting to hurt. _One down, four to go._

She was so excited.

-

Eve felt claustrophobic.

The building was packed to the rafters with paratroopers celebrating their completion of jump school by getting drunk. They were mere civilians no longer. Now they were a part of the finest fighting force the Army had ever produced. An elite unit, never before attempted.

They’d made it. She’d made it. Eve had survived. She could hardly believe it. Her fingers drifted up to trace the engraved metal of her jump wings pinned over her heart.

She was a paratrooper; now until the day she died, and she’d done it despite her gender. She was going to be the first woman ever to enter into combat without pretense, and she finally felt worthy of that title. She’d survived despite the odds, and now no one would be able to take that away from her.

It was an overwhelming feeling of triumph.

She’d even been promoted to Corporal this morning. It was a huge accomplishment since not many of the men actually liked her, but it meant that she was doing something right – or at least right enough that the Army noticed her for something other than her gender.

There wasn’t much actual difference between a Corporal and a Private as far as duties in the Company, but it did come with a slight salary bump, and the pride it gave her was immeasurable. After months of torment, and people telling her through actions if not words that she would never make it, it was the best thing that had happened to her during her – admittedly short – career in the Army.

Eve observed the room. The cold glass Luz thrust into her hand when she entered melted in her grip. She’d taken a sip of the bitter beer to appease him, but she much preferred the much lighter taste of champagne to this swill. She kept hold of it as a deterrent if someone wandered by offering more, which Luz had already attempted.

“You sure I can’t get you another one?” he said after she shook his hand in response to his hearty congratulations.

She shook her head and offered him a stilted smile. She couldn’t help but wonder in the back of her mind whether or not he resented her for making it. After all, he’d certainly lost money in that gambling ring of his when she hadn’t washed out three months ago.

“Okay then, you let me know if you change your mind?” he said. “I’m off to man the bar.”

She nodded and raised the glass to his in a salute. She tried to wipe off the perspiration from the glass on her sleeve. It made her palm uncomfortably wet.

She leaned against the wall on the far side of the room. No one bothered her, she was out of the way. It was a tactic that she’d utilized several times; when she wasn’t directly in someone’s line of sight, they often forgot she was there entirely.

Eve would have left them to their party, rather than loitering in dark corners trying to blend in with the paneling, but apparently Colonel Sink was going to be making a speech of some kind, and attendance was mandatory.

She watched Martin straighten the blouse of his pants and remembered Captain Sobel’s bitching all those months ago. All their pants were permitted to crease at the bottom now. And they had new boots – which she was still trying to get comfortable in. Someone mentioned submerging them in warm water to get the leather loose enough to reform to fit their feet, but there was a limited supply of bathtubs at Fort Benning, so she’d just have to tough it out again. It would probably hurt just as much the second time, but she’d earned these boots and she was going to wear them until she died. She wondered if she’d still feel that way after their first twenty-five mile night march, and decided not to think about it.

She watched Guarnere become the focal point of some drinking game, chugging down his beer, to the other men’s rambunctious cheering. She waited for the big finish and cringed to see him grinning, his wings gripped between his teeth after he’d given them a beer bath.

Her first thought was one her mother would have been proud of: the whole thing was disgusting; her second was: it seemed to her to be highly disrespectful of the wings she already treasured so dearly. Eve felt her eyes roll when he shouted “Hi-Yo Silver!” in triumph, the largest grin she’d ever seen from him adorning his face.

Eve let her eye roll turn into a smile and sipped her beer, more for a lack of anything else to do. It was bitter stuff, but better than nothing at all.

This was actually her first time drinking with the others. Whenever they’d had liberty – not even Sobel was mean enough to deny _all_ their weekend passes in the last eight long months – she’d stayed behind on their runs into town. She didn’t want to get mixed up in the guys’ heads as pleasure. The bruises they often sported when they came back assured her she was missing nothing she was interested in.

She’d never really had an occasion to leave Camp Toccoa. Most things she wanted she could buy at the PX on base. She had her extra – non-regulation – pair of woolen socks tucked up in her bra bag.

If she was being honest, she also had a non-regulation sewing kit much more extensively packed than the miniscule one she’d been issued. She’d found one that included several colors of thread – some were thin and delicate silk but most were a thick gage that wouldn’t snap under pressure – ten differently sized needles, a thimble, and a set of tiny scissors, all tucked into the bag that held her menstrual cloths; she’d bought the whole thing for two dollars from the same woman whom she’d bought her personal bags from; which come to think of it – were also non-reg. Not that anybody seemed to mind.

“Congratulations Corporal,” said Winters, having snuck up on her in the noisy, crowded room. She whipped her head around to find both he and Nixon standing a few feet in front of her. She could tell by the glee in Nixon’s eyes that he’d noticed her jump in fright and found it hysterical.

She shook Winters’s outstretched hand and gave him a genuinely pleased smile. “You too, Lieutenant.”

She held her hand out to Nixon with mock scowl fixed firmly in place, only to have it melt away in the face of his relentless glee. She shook her head in something like self-deprecation and returned his grin, noticing that he’d somehow inexplicitly found a tumbler of liquor instead of the beer everyone else was sipping on.

“What are you drinking, sir?” she asked, pointing at his glass with a finger from her beer glass.

He smirked. “Vat 69.” She whistled. That was expensive whiskey. “Only the best for Mama Nixon’s little boy.”

Winters caught Eve’s eye, and made sure she was watching him roll his eyes at Nixon’s antics.

Eve grinned, and soon she was chuckling along with the two men, feeling included for the first time this evening. She could tell they were both feeling as high from triumph as she was.

“TEN-hut!” The entire room snapped to attention, glasses and previous rowdiness forgotten for long beaten-in military discipline.

Colonel Sink entered the room with Majors Strayer and Horton at his side. She couldn’t quite see them over the men in front of her. Sink remedied this quickly enough by mounting the stage at the front of the room so Eve and everyone could see him clearly.

“Well at ease, paratroopers,” Sink said with a proud smile. The entire company slid into ease with a slight shuffle. “Good ev’ning Easy Company.”

“Evening Sir!” Eve said back in unison with her Company.

“Now Parachute Infantry is a brand new concept in American Military History, but by God the 506th is going to forge that brand new concept into victory.” A couple of guys responded as Sink paused, cheering “yeah!”

Eve’s eyes darted to Winters and Nixon, grinning with her whole heart. They shared a secret conversation in a glance and smiled back at her.

Eve could often interpret these conversations, but she doubted many of the boys could. Men just weren’t programmed to notice things like that. If Eve didn’t know better, and she did, she’d have assumed that there was something more than friendship there. But Nixon was a married man, probably not happily with the way he drank like a fish, and Winters was far too straight-laced to even think about such things. Two more different men she would never find, but for whatever reason, the two of them just understood each other on a deeply instinctual level; something she genuinely hoped to achieve with someone someday.

They always managed to make her smile whenever she was around to witness their antics, but their ranks were so different from hers that she was always destined to be an outsider, rather than a friend to them, which she genuinely didn’t mind at all.

At least her heart had stopped leaping in her chest whenever Winters smiled. She still liked him more than she should, but it was a work in progress.

Her attention resettled on Sink as he continued, and found him staring at her.

She needed to pay closer attention. “I want you to know that I’m damn proud of each and every one of you.”

He held her eyes as he said it.

Eve swallowed deeply to reign in the tears that were coming up. It had been a long time since someone had said they were proud of her. But she would _not_ start crying now.

“Now you deserve this party!” he said, breaking eye contact and addressing the room at large again. Sink thanked Sergeant Grant for bringing him a still frothy beer. “So I want you to have fun, and remember our motto: Currahee!” He raised the glass in salute to them.

Eve raised her glass in salute to him with the rest of the room, a salute to a man she deeply respected and repeated, “CURRAHEE!” in one thundering voice, which dissolved into cheers as the men got back to the party.

She set down her drink. “That’s my cue,” she said, extremely glad she was finally allowed to leave.

“Where you goin’? The party’s just getting started,” said Nixon.

“Bed. Long day tomorrow.”

Nixon snorted, “Good luck with that.”

“Thank you,” she said, throwing him a cheerful smile despite being too tired to be properly cheerful.

“Goodnight, Corporal Buchanan,” said Winters nodding at her.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said, giving each man a nod as she slipped out of the room.

She should have heeded Nixon’s advice and just stayed at the party since she was woken at all hours of the night by drunken soldiers clamoring around the barracks like the beer had turned them into elephants. No one bothered keeping it down as they extended the festivities into the wee hours of the morning.

Eve was the only person in the entire barracks who woke up the next morning without a hangover. In retaliation for the men keeping her from sleep, she tormented them with the sunniest early-bird attitude she could muster, faking her way through it to make them miserable and being particularly clumsy when it came to dropping heavy things on the wooden floor.

It was the most fun she’d had in nearly a year.

Revenge was sweet.

-

Three weeks later, Easy Company was in Camp Mackall, North Carolina, their next stop on their tour of training camps, running through another practice jump. Unlike last time, they shipped out on a train rather than doing a forced march, thank God. They’d gone through several training jumps, and this morning was yet another. Getting their wings hadn’t been the end of jumping.

They were flying over a serene lake, when the light went green, but there was enough of a breeze to hopefully blow them away from the perilous water.

When Eve jumped from the plane, she followed the split second procedure and scanned the sky, looking for the other guys’ chutes, just to make sure they were all going down at the same rate.

She wasn’t.

The other canopy’s were rising.

She was falling way too fast.

She looked up at her canopy.

_Shit!_

Five panels – out of the twenty four – were completely blown with five dangling suspension lines.

Without enough air in her canopy, she was falling like a rock, and right towards the lake.

She reached for her reserve chute and, without much thought, but a lot of desperation, pulled the cord.

She’d made a major blunder; already she could hear the voice of her instructor as though he were in her ear. _Always throw it out in the opposite direction that you’re oscillating._ In her panic, she’d pulled it in the same direction she was turning.

It slowed her down, but in a split second, she was engulfed in her reserve chute like a shroud. She couldn’t see anything, and she was still falling.

In seconds, she was crashing through the leaves and limbs of an oak tree.

She’d missed the lake, but seemed to bounce off each and every branch until her suspension lines finally snagged, and jerked her to a halt.

Eve gasped – trying to breathe through the thick silk filling her nose and mouth – and flailed about, trying to free herself from the reserve chute. When the glare of sunlight replaced the white blindness that had enshrouded her, she realized that the tree had snagged her just before she hit the ground.

She hung there – dangling like a marionette – trying to regain control of her breathing, as she cycled through a heaving panic.

Death had just reached out and let her slip through his fingers.

After far too long, Eve finally regained enough of her sense to find her bayonet and cut the lines, dropping to the forgiving ground.

There she landed on her hands and knees and panted – still petrified.

She pushed herself to her feet and forced herself not to vomit. Gripping her self-control with both hands, she yanked her chute from the tree.

She couldn’t panic. She couldn’t let her fear overtake her.

Death had always been a part of the equation.

But she’d never realized – not really – that she could die here, in training, a thousand miles away from the front lines.

It was a hard realization to grasp.

She forced herself not to think about it, put it in a box to deal with later, and made her way back to the rally point, hoping she hadn’t been left behind.

-

Shortly after her brush with death, Easy Company was participating in a field maneuver.

They'd been in the army nearly a year now. But this was the first time Easy Company had been dropped in a field against an actual opponent.

Major Horton was overseeing the whole exercise, and Sobel was eager to impress.

They had full gear on including red armbands to indicate which platoon they were in. Eve, as a part of Easy's Second Platoon, wore red, First Platoon was white, and Third Platoon wore green, in order to become familiar with the radio codes that they were going to utilize in combat. For this particular exercise, Doc Roe joined them, as did Captain Sobel.

They were in a ditch that might have once been a stream, but it was very reminiscent of what she’d heard the Great War trenches were like. It was fortified a position, at the top of an embankment and well out of sight from where they thought the enemy would be approaching. They had one chance to execute an effective ambush on the approaching team.

Eve was near the top of the dyke, braced on a tree as she scanned the line in front of her for movement, her rifle already poised to shoot. She tried to empty her mind of the minimal chatter behind her. They did it all in covert whispers so ignoring it was an easy thing to do. Technically, they meant them to maintain silence, but chatter was inevitable. Each whisper had that much more secrecy when Captain Sobel was eagerly waiting to crack down on them for any reason.

She noticed after the first hour of sitting in their position, silently waiting for the enemies’ approach, Captain Sobel was getting twitchy. She did her best to ignore him when he started to scramble around, breathing heavily and sweating as his nerves choked him.

He was panicking.

“Petty!” he hissed, waving his arm to get the man’s attention, “Map!”

Private Petty came over promptly, handing the requested map over to Sobel’s hunched form. Eve, perched right above where Sobel decided to look over their position, was privy to every word of his hissed conversation with Winters. She honestly wished that she hadn’t been; it was the conversation that caused the loss of any lingering respect she had for Sobel’s combat leadership.

“We’re in the wrong position,” said Sobel, fear tingeing his voice, his breath panting as he tried to scan the forest for the enemy himself, not trusting the men under his command in the slightest to know better than he did what to look for.

Eve’s eyes flicked to the side as Winters moved at a crouch to join Sobel, her brain catching the movement and promptly filing it as harmless before moving her attention back to the line.

“We’re in the wrong position,” Sobel informed his XO.

“We’re in textbook position for ambush sir,” whispered Winters, mindful, even as Sobel forgot, of the importance for them to keep silent. “I think we should sit tight and wait for the enemy team to come into our killing zone.”

 _Which is exactly what we’ve been training to do for the last year_ , thought Eve.

“They’re right up there somewhere,” said Sobel, disregarding Winters’s advice. “Let’s just get ‘em!”

Eve’s face contorted to show her disbelief. Did he really just say that? She shot a confused look over at Roe who was crouching below her in the dyke, also privy to the debate between Sobel and his XO. He shook his head in bafflement.

“Sir, we have perfect cover here,” said Winters, trying again, hoping that Sobel would reconsider, would remember his training and keep the men in a safe position rather than go tromping through the woods on some wild goose chase.

“Lieutenant, deploy your men,” said Sobel. And that was that.

“Second Platoon, move out,” he hissed, pitching the whisper for the other men to hear. “Tactical columns.”

Eve saw what her face must look like on the other guys as they also tried to comprehend the stupidity they were about to commit. She rolled down from her perch into the ditch. She landed balanced on her feet and followed Winters and Sobel, Roe on her six.

They could do nothing. Winters had tried to persuade him out of it, but it was a subordinate officer's job to offer his opinion once, and then follow orders. No matter how absurd those orders may be.

She was near the front of the tactical column, Sobel charged ahead, sidearm drawn with Winters at one flank and the radioman on his six. Sobel hadn’t even bothered to send out a patrol or scouts or _anything_ to give them advanced warning of the enemy. Eve’s eyes never stopped scanning for movement as they ate up ground between theirs and the enemy team’s position.

The hair on the back of Eve’s neck stood up. She closed her eyes for a second and listened. No sound beyond heavy boots crunching through debris, not a single animal noise. Something was wrong.

Rustling, fifty yards in front of them and counting.

Eve froze. Her hand was already up in a fist to let the men behind her know to duck down, as her body folded into a crouch. The forest debris in front of them stood up revealing the concealed enemy, whose kill zone Easy Company had just traipsed into with no more stealth than a tank squad.

She saw that Winters had also moved to squat at the first rustling, trying to get out of the range of fire. They would have been dead any way, she realized as an entire platoon of soldiers broke their leaf cover, guns raised, Easy’s in their sights.

It was every one of Eve’s nightmares realized.

Her eyes flew around her squad. Most had put down their guns, knowing already they’d been killed. She watched Roe bite back a curse. Winters stood up slowly from his crouch. Eve figured she might as well do the same.

She looked down in frustration as Major Horton asked Sobel for their information so he could record their failure for future generations and posterity's sake. Sobel would have lost 95% of his men and his own life in a real situation.

Her eyes scanned the other men. Roe looked furious and frustrated. He bit his lip to keep from speaking and met her eyes. Eve knew her eyes had become the icy shade they took on when she was pissed off. She was too enraged for them not to be. She realized something about herself in that moment with a startling clarity that she would envy later in life: the thing she hated more than anything else was incompetent leadership. And in that department, Captain Sobel took the cake. It might have been funny, except that he’d literally just waltzed his entire Company into a kill zone, abandoning a fortified position to “just go get ‘em!” After all her hard work in training, this moronic, spiteful man had just gotten her killed. And icing on the cake: they had completely failed their mission.

"Leave three men on the ground as wounded," said Horton. “And then report back to the assembly area.”

“Goddamn it,” mumbled Sobel under his breath.

Eve never wanted to strike a person so badly in her life as she did her Captain right at that moment. He could use a good fist to the jaw so maybe he’d remember how frivolously he’d just wasted their lives. Fake or not, this exercise had been a simulation of the real thing.

She would never trust Sobel again.

Sobel turned and scrutinized the men behind him. With his pistol, still cocked and hopefully loaded with blanks, he pointed at three men in the face, including one of their MG teams to leave behind, because they happened to be closest to Sobel at the time. He called them all “You.” Apparently their CO hadn’t even bothered to read the names stenciled on their ODs let alone actually learn them.

 _Fucking Sobel_.

-

Unfortunately, that was their last maneuver at Camp Mackall. The next day they were to be shipped out to destinations unknown. Eve packed her bags and dressed in her dress greens. The atmosphere was relaxed as the guys waited to board trucks.

“You boys know where Lieutenant Winters’s tent is?” a short man asked as he came up to where Eve was tossing her bag into the truck. She still didn’t quite trust the men to handle her things despite Bull Randleman’s offer to sling it up into the truck with his own sack.

The man had curly brown hair and sharp blue eyes. His voice was one she imagined would be easily discernible in battle. He was wearing a Second Lieutenant’s bar on his collar.

Eve saluted him. She’d heard that they were getting a new Lieutenant.

Nixon had been transferred into an intelligence position at Battalion Staff. Technically he was still with the company, but his new position put him in charge of the intelligence for the entire SecondBattalion. So rather than reporting to Sobel, Nixon would be reporting straight to Lieutenant Colonel Strayer. When she’d heard, she thought: _Maybe it will be good for the man._ He’d seemed bored out of his mind under Sobel.

“Yes, sir,” she said. He looked stunned. Apparently he hadn’t recognized her as the girl. That would change soon enough, she figured, and then he could get on with ignoring her like all the other replacements who’d joined them after Toccoa. “It’s that one right over there. Second one on your left.”

He nodded, apparently not too stunned to forget his manners, “Thank you, Corporal.”

And so Lieutenant Harry Welsh transferred into E Company from the 82nd Airborne. It soon became apparent that Welsh had already heard the word about Sobel’s ineffectiveness and erratic behavior in the field. No one was even trying to keep it a secret. Thus, he had the same confidence in Sobel that the guys did, which was none.

Eve, having decided that Lieutenant Welsh was an okay sort, went for a walk. She didn't really fancy bouncing around in the back of a truck for long periods of time, and relished the last chance to stretch her legs in the clean air. She had to stay fairly close to the trucks, as they could be moving out at any moment, and so wandered her way amongst the men. Most were sitting on their bags gossiping at each other.

One group caught her attention. Cobb laid stretched out on the ground, his bag acting as a backrest. Next to him was Toye, then Popeye, and Shifty, all sitting on their sacks. She was prepared to duck her head and keep moving when she caught when she caught Cobb saying, "Ah, you gotta admit, he's got no chance. Either the Krauts will get him, or one of us."

Liebgott squatted down to join them. "Who, Sobel?"

"He screwed up one maneuver," said Shifty, picking apart a blade of grass; it was as much of a defense as any of them were willing to give Sobel.

Eve paused her walk to listen in, interested in where this was going.

Liebgott caught Eve’s eye. He was smirking, not smiling – a cruel twist to his mouth that meant nothing good at all. “Well, you know,” he drawled in a roundabout manner. “I’m always fumbling with grenades. Be easy if one went off by _accident_.”

Ice gripped her heart as she saw it, as though painted before her eyes. If she froze in the field, like they expected her to, it would be just as easy for anyone in her Company to kill her as it would be to kill Sobel. Like Lieb said, he was always fumbling with grenades.

They could easily construe it to look like an accident in the confusion of warfare.

Eve’s stomach rolled.

A hand gripped her shoulder. Her hand was halfway to making him let go when he released her. She looked back into Sergeant Lipton’s worried eyes. Lipton was one of the NCOs for Second Platoon. He was a good man, and a fine sergeant. He looked out for all the men in the company, even those guys not in his platoon, and he was fair to everyone, even Eve. He was a good man, and she trusted him to look out for her; even if she couldn’t go into combat with men she couldn’t trust not to kill her or let her get killed.

It seemed that in spite of Liebgott’s open threat, there was at least one member of Easy Company who let her know she wasn’t quite as alone and friendless as she thought she was a moment ago.

“Well,” said Shifty, moving the conversation deftly back to Sobel’s leadership rather than what might not have been an empty threat on anyone who was incompetent or a liability in the field, “Now they must have put him in charge for a reason,” he said. And when phrased that way, it seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world for the Army to have had some secret agenda for keeping Sobel in command.

If they did, Eve had yet to see it. Sure, he’d created some of the best soldiers in the entire Army, but he did so through fear, not respect, and the men hated him for it rather than admired him. It might be different if he didn’t seem to enjoy knocking them down so much. As it was, Eve felt completely justified in her hatred of him, Army motives be damned.

Eve gave Lip a tight smile and decided to move on before she outstayed her welcome. Liebgott, was already sneering at her, daring her without words to screw up. She swallowed hard and looked away.

She had thought things had improved remarkably between them since their hand-to-hand combat lessons, but apparently he didn’t like her any more now than he had when he’d shoved her into her food that first day.

“Yeah, because the Army wouldn’t make a mistake, right Shift?”

Eve ducked her head and moved away – feeling like an example of a mistake the army made as she passed the group and every eye in it followed her. She tried not to feel like she was running away, and failed.

She thought she was earning her place here. That the men were finally accepting her as one of them. Never would she have guessed that they would actually threaten to kill her in the field if she screwed up.

She moved away from his stare, stomach in knots, and trying not to feel like she was running away.

-

On the train, Eve had somehow ended up seated behind Lieutenant Winters and Lieutenant Welsh. She leaned against the window, scanning the forest as it went by and relishing the fact that she wasn't in the back of a damned truck.

She turned when Nixon sat down beside her. He leaned forward to talk to Winters, but smiled at her when she looked over at him. She smiled back and leaned back on the window, head cushioned by her pack. Feigning sleep until it managed to take her was always a good policy in Eve's book of life. And despite the serious lack of padding, the brown leather of the seats had warmed in the sunlight and was soft.

Nixon settled in, smug and eager to share his bounty of news with his friend. He tried to get Winters to guess where they were going, but Winters didn't want to play ball. He was writing a letter of some kind, had been the whole trip.

"I, of course, know but if I told you I'd have to kill you." Nixon said, suppressing a smile.

Winters calmly replied, "So don't tell me."

Nixon shared another smile with Eve, who was grinning, her eyes still closed. Winters could keep a straight face if someone was tickling him.

Nixon left her bench with a pat to her thigh, nothing more than he would do to any of his friends, and driven by sheer absentmindedness. Had he remembered she was a girl, not just any other soldier, he might have patted her arm or shoulder, but he was too much wrapped up in his news and his friend's reaction. Honestly, the gesture meant all the more for it.

Eve opened her eyes to watch Nixon move to sit across from Winters, leaning forward like he was sharing a secret.

"New York City. Troop ship. England." Eve, tucked into the corner like she was, was able to see Winters finally look up from his letter to observe Nixon settling back into his seat in triumph, "We're invading Europe, my friend," Nixon proclaimed, pulling out a silver flask that might have cost Eve a month’s pay and offered a swig to Winters, “Fortress Europa.”

"Since when do I drink?" Winters asked. Despite having a view of only half of Winters’s face, Eve could easily picture the expression he gave Nixon. He had a smile behind his sharp blue eyes and tucked into the corner of his mouth as studied Nixon.

"Well if I thought you'd drink it, I wouldn't offer it to ya," said Nixon leaning back and taking a swallow for himself.

Winter's eyes followed the flask as he straightened up from his letter-writing slouch. "Nixon, what are you gonna do when you get into combat?"

Nixon looked down, following Winters' gaze and understood. He gave Dick a smile. "Oh, I have every confidence in my scrounging abilities," he said glancing out the window, his gaze sliding to Eve for a moment before he turned back to Winters, deciding to confess. "And I have a case of Vat 69 hidden in your footlocker." He settled back into the seat, smug and comfortable. He let a smile cross his face. His eyes met Eve's again, inviting her to share in the joke. She huffed a quiet laugh, trying not to ruin the moment.

Winters laughed for a moment too until he realized that Nixon wasn't. "Really?" he asked, immediately serious as he realized the implications. Eve’s smile was actually beginning to hurt it was so wide.

_Genius! No one will ever think to look in Winters’ foot locker for contraband because everyone know Winter’s would never put a toe out of line. Nixon’s gear is far more likely to be searched for contraband, while investigations into Winters’ gear would be accidental, highly irregular, and unlikely. Which is why Nixon did it in the first place._

"Oh, yeah," Nixon said with a matter of-fact-nod, looking over to Welsh as he started stirring from his catnap in the sun.

"Morning." Nixon said, offering Welsh the flask.

The man took it with a groan as he blinked the bright sun from his eyes. “This is turning out to be a real nice trip,” he mumbled and took a long swig from the flask.

Eve smiled as she caught Nixon directing Winters’s attention to Welsh, and decided to tune them out and sleep. Nothing could possibly happen in this car without Winters, Nixon and Welsh seeing it directly, so she allowed herself to relax, stretching out to occupy the entirety of her bench and allowing the rocking of the train to lull her into sleep.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates are every Thursday.


	8. Samaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve survives training in the states.
> 
> "All the adversity I've had in my life, all my troubles and obstacles, have strengthened me... You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you." - Walt Disney
> 
> Now: Eve and Easy Company travel to England. The trip is less than smooth sailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft and Laura001
> 
> Also, thanks to Helianza for help with the French translations!

_Dear Sir or Madame,_

_Soon your son will drop from the sky to engage and defeat the enemy. Your frequent letters of love and encouragement will arm him with a fighting heart. With that he cannot fail, but will win glory for himself, make you proud of him, and his country ever grateful for his service in its hour of need._

_Signed,_

_Herbert S. Sobel_  
_Captain, Commanding_

-

Eve was standing still and going nowhere fast as she was in a seemingly endless line of soldiers snaking through the Brooklyn Harbor in New York City towards the S.S. _Samaria_. She was sandwiched somewhere in the midst of Easy Company, tucked behind Roe – who was still her main ally in the Company – as they waited to board. Somehow they’d become companions – Eve was hesitant to say friends – but he was the easiest person in the Company for her to be around. He didn’t tend to fit in with the other men and neither did she, but he didn’t seem to mind her company even if their friendship was a quiet one.

They didn’t have the same tendency to talk and gossip with one another the way Eve had with her friends at home. That said, whatever it was between them was comfortable enough for Eve to actively seek him out.

She walked up the gangplank nervously. She’d never been on a boat before. It took a while to get used to the constant rocking motion – a steady up and down obvious even while they were anchored in port. It managed to toss her around for a few moments before she could anticipate the movements.

Roe, being from Louisiana was already used to boats, and observed her finding her “sea legs” with some humor.

She scowled at him when she caught the smile on his face, before giving in and smiling along with him, realizing that she must look pretty silly catapulting around the deck.

Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one swaying about fighting to find her balance as most of the men found themselves catapulted around the deck too.

Their first order of business on the ship was to claim bunk space. Easy Company seemed smack-dab in the middle of everybody, and quarters were tight.

The belly of the ship was filled with hammocks, at least five high and rammed together two deep per row, with barely enough space between rows for a single man to walk, let alone shoulder his way between all the jutting knees and jostling men all trying to claim a space.

The air was dense and close, and stank of too many men and too much sweat and feet. While Eve was used to such smells, this stench was taken to such a degree that she almost felt more nauseous now than when she was falling around on deck.

Despite the crowd, Eve easily followed Roe, bobbing along in his wake, and the rest of her Company as they were pushed to what must have been the dead center of the ship. After much elbowing, Eve and Roe managed to claim adjoining racks on the same row, and set their stuff down.

“You wanna head up to watch this thing set sail?” she asked the unobtrusive Cajun.

He shook his head, “You go ahead. I’m gonna catch up on my letter writing while we still got some peace and quiet.”

She abandoned him and her bags and fell into the stream of men wading their way back up to the surface, all eager to observe the ship pushing off.

Back on deck, Eve recognized several Easy Company guys clustered around the railing, wanting front and center views of the ship setting sail. The potential sights tempted Eve enough to join them. Eve fought her way to the railing and spent several hours watching the sailors hustle about, preparing to ship off, the other Easy Company men clustered around her.

The sun was sinking in the sky when the ship roared to life and they released the giant ropes holding the boat to the harbor. Eve felt genuine awe. Even with the waves, the boat was completely smooth as it cut through the water.

“Hey, guys, check it out!” called Luz from the railing, pointing out some women on the harbor waving them off with white kerchiefs and little American flags. Some were blowing kisses to the men who waved back at the crowd. Eve paid particular attention to the frantically waving children, wondering if their parents were off fighting the war too.

She stayed at the railing, snug between the other Easy guys who’d decided to stay on deck. They watched the Statue of Liberty and the New York City skyline drift by, silhouettes against golden clouds as the sun set the world on fire as it descended.

Eve lingered, even as the other men drifted off to parts unknown, most likely ducking below deck to find their racks or the mess, called a galley on a ship. She watched as the stars blinked into existence, brighter than she’d ever seen them. She tucked her garrison cap into her belt to keep the wind from blowing it away as the huge ship put on speed. Her hair, still short, was yanked around her head in a refreshing breeze. She sucked air greedily into her lungs, grateful that the ship was moving fast enough that the thick black smoke from the ship’s exhaust tower wasn’t wafting into her lungs.

 _This is almost as good as parachuting,_ she decided, reveling in the way the wind whipped around her.

-

Eve spent most of her time on deck. Something about the way the wind tugged at her hair kept pulling her back. Plus it was a blissful escape from the stench of thousands of un-showered men packed in, what was essentially a tin can, like sardines.

Eve had recently found out that over five-thousand people were on this ship; four-thousand more than they’d originally designed it to hold.

A body hurled itself onto the railing next to her, startling her. She flung a hand out to steady the violently ill man, rubbing his back in a soothing circular way that was more muscle memory than conscious thought.

It wasn’t until he paused to get his breath that she got a closer look at the still heaving man, “Sergeant Talbert? Is that you?”

He panted, stomach still roiling. “Yeah, Buchanan,” he gagged. “Didn’t mean to startle you, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” She looked him over as he pulled himself up from his prone position, spitting in the ocean to clear his mouth. She unhooked his canteen from where it was hanging on his belt and handed it over. He gave her the most pathetically grateful look she’d ever received and took a swill, spitting it out again before he was finally able to drink small sips. He fumbled putting it back in its spot and then sank into a crouch, holding on to the ice-cold railing for dear life as he watched the ocean slide by the hull.

Eve had never really met the man. She’d seen him, she’d known of him, he’d run up Currahee with her once – of his own accord while she was being punished – but they’d never had a conversation. She kind of figured he was like all the other Easy Company guys who hadn’t spoken to her, but it could simply be that he was in First Platoon where she was in Second. Regardless, she couldn’t leave him there, not after watching him quake with illness. Her conscious wouldn’t let her.

“Want me to go see if Doc Roe has some seasickness pills for you?” she asked.

“I don’t wanna bother him,” argued Talbert. “He’ll come up here and hover, and alls I want is to throw up in peace.”

“Alright,” she said, “How about I get the pills, but I won’t tell him who they’re for?” He looked up at her from the corners of his eyes. “That way you can get to feeling better without Roe clucking over you?”

He nodded, relieved, and croaked out his thanks.

Eve wondered if the real reason he didn’t want anyone to know he was sick, was that he didn’t want anyone to know that he’d let her help him while he was sick.

Regardless, she ducked back into the belly of the ship to find that it had suddenly become exponentially more crowded. She literally had to squeeze between hundreds of men, fighting a crowd to get back to her bunk where Roe was most likely still loitering. She hadn’t anticipated quite such a press of bodies, and she braced herself as she was jostled to and fro as she pushed her way through.

She ducked her head to make herself small, and tried to avoid bumping directly into people. She'd rather not sidle by some soldier and have him realize that she was female. Not everyone on the ship was a member of the 506, thus they might be unpleasantly surprised to see a female.

Her own unit didn’t like her much. She dreaded what soldiers completely unfamiliar with her would do.

Fortunately, she was able to move through the chaos with relative ease and some quick footwork.

She found Roe at their racks, relaxing against his bag for a pillow, thumbing a rosary, deep in thought. Eve climbed up on the lowest bed frame to put her face level with his.

“Hey, you got any seasickness pills?” she asked.

He sat up immediately, putting a hand out to touch the back of it to her forehead. She glared at him. “They’re not for me.”

His eyebrow cocked up, “Oh. Who’re they for?” he asked, digging in his medicine bag for the box of pills he’d been given before they’d shipped off. Retrieving the small box, he sat up to follow her.

“Nope,” she said, plucking the box from his hands. “Can’t tell you that.”

Now his eyebrow framed a face full of amusement. “Mhm,” he hummed. “That right?”

“Yep,” she said, a cheeky smile on her face as she hopped down from her step.

He watched her, thoroughly amused as she slipped between the other men of Easy on her way back on deck. _She certainly seems to be loosening up,_ he thought.

When he could no longer see her, he went back to his rosary, knowing that he’d find out who was sick sooner or later, anyway. It was very interesting that she was willing to protect one of the men’s secrets. Far as he knew, she didn’t trust any of them one lick. Maybe that was changing.

-

Eve tried to elbow her way through a blockade of soldiers all loitering just before the stairs to the deck. There was a fresh breeze there, without the direct heat of the sun, so she could see why it was a popular spot.

That didn’t change the fact that they were in her way, and didn’t seem like they were going to move any time soon.

Narrowing her eyes, she waited for her moment, and slipped through a small gap between bordering groups.

She turned to her side and squeezed her way through, accidentally brushing against two of the men.

Eve felt an arm snag her around the waist, pulling her tight to a strong chest. She gasped in surprise as her breath was squeezed from her.

“What is this, boys?” he called out in triumph, “A broad playing at being a soldier!”

“Let me go,” said Eve, struggling to be calm as the man’s words drew five more soldiers in to close ranks on her.

“I’d heard about a soldier broad! She’s prettier than I thought she’d be!"/p>

“I said, ‘let me go,’” she demanded, trying to put steel in her voice despite feeling helpless, and terrified.

“What, you only sleep with officers?” the man holding her said as his hand drifted up to cup her breast.

Eve choked on her fear.

But after hundreds – thousands – of hours training for action, her body reacted immediately, recalling half-forgotten lessons. She dug her nails into the sensitive web between his thumb and forefinger, pinching as hard as she could. With her other hand she drove her fingernails between the veins and tendons of his wrist.

He howled in pain, not expecting her to retaliate in such a subtle, unfamiliar, way and released her. She drove her heel into his instep to keep him off balance and he thrust her away with a cry of rage. His hand was bleeding.

One of his friends tried to grab her as soon as she got out of the first man’s arms. She kicked him in the balls before he could get a proper grip on her. He collapsed immediately, his friends laughing as he fell.

She raked a third man across the face when he tried to slam her into the wall. He fell away cursing and swung at her wildly. She took the hit in the gut with a cry of her own.

Eve didn’t stick around to see the results. As a soldier, she was expected to kill her enemy in hand-to-hand combat, but among ‘allies’, her only objective was to get away from the situation.

She ran, shoving her way through the crowd that had gathered, who – thankfully – let her pass unhindered, pushing forward to see what was going on, even as the main attraction was fleeing the scene.

She shoved her way through the crowd between her and fresh air, too frightened to notice – or care about – what was happening around her. She tried not to vomit; she couldn’t just sit down and cry. She couldn’t afford weakness right now.

Her mind shutdown, but she managed to focus her attention on the box in her hand. She latched onto the mission: get the pills to Talbert. It was all she could focus on right now. The rest had to wait. She couldn’t collapse now, with so many potentially hostile individuals around. She had to finish getting the pills to Talbert, and then she could plot out the rest.

She knew somehow in her gut that she needed to get back to Easy Company. There was safety with those men that there wasn’t alone, because while her Company didn’t like her much as a soldier, they’d never tried to bother her like _that_ either.

She found Talbert, right where she left him.

“Buchanan? You all right?” Talbert asked.

It was the oddest feeling, seeing him suddenly in front of her. She felt both hyper alert and oddly numb. If pressed, she could honestly remember nothing of the snaking path she’d taken to get back here, nor could she guess how long it had taken.

“Buchanan?” Talbert said again, tone worried.

“Hmm? Oh, right, here.” She doled out two pills and then forked them over, trying not to let her hand shake.

“Got any water?” he asked, plucking them from her hand. She tried to ignore the way she’d flinched away from even his fingertips touching her palm. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she fumbled for her canteen and gave it to him.

It wasn’t until after he’d swallowed the pills and was giving her canteen back that he noticed how absolutely terrified she looked. Her eyes were wild, and she shied away from every passing shadow, almost leaping out of the way of a brushing shoulder. She gingerly took the canteen back when he offered it to her, but made no move to leave.

 _She’s scared,_ he realized with some shock, trying to remember the last time he’d seen her scared, and coming up blank.

“You all right?” he asked again.

She blinked at him, and Talbert watched her rewind the conversation in her head.

And then she did something completely out of character.

She lied.

“I’m fine,” she said, not convincing him whatsoever.

His brow furrowed. “Did something happen?” he asked.

She lied again. “No.”

“Are you sure?” he pushed, watching as she shied away from yet another passerby, all but plastering herself to the railing to avoid contact.

She glared at him, irritated enough to forget their difference in rank. “Yes.”

He reached out to touch her shoulder, to prove his point. Her eyes, which had drifted back to watching the passing soldiers, snapped to his as she took a full step away from him.

“You don’t seem fine,” he insisted.

“Must be the close quarters getting to me, sir,” she suggested.

“Sure,” he agreed, still not believing her. Talbert spent a moment watching Buchanan track a group of solders a bit further down the rail. Talbert watched them with her for a moment. Sure they were being rowdy, but no more than anyone was after being cooped up for so long, and certainly no more than what Buchanan should be used to after a year with Easy Company.

She caught him staring and excused herself. “I should get these pills back to Roe.” She gave him a hasty salute, said, “Sir,” as an afterthought. And then she ran away, barely waiting for his answering salute, before fleeing.

Talbert watched her go, bemused and slightly worried about her as he watched her slither carefully through the crowd, letting no one touch her when not absolutely necessary, making herself smaller to go unnoticed.

He was just making up his mind to follow her when the boat lunged beneath his feet. He leapt for the railing. Buchanan’s oddness drifted to the back of his mind as he tried to keep the pills he’d just taken inside him long enough for them to actually work.

-

Eve chose a different route back Easy Company.

The ship was like a giant ant hive with thousands of different paths to get lost in. She’d spent days exploring the winding tunnels, and used that knowledge now to pick a route that would keep her away from those disgusting men.

She couldn’t take the chance that they were still loitering around the way she’d come up, and who knew how many more were on the lookout for her now that they knew a girl was on board.

A different route was definitely in order.

Making her way back through the mass of male bodies was nauseating, and terrifying. She longed for the detachment that she’d had just after the incident and the fog that Talbert had knocked her from. Now that she was conscious, every touch became violent in her mind, and she flinched away from the ones she could.

Despite the longer, circulatory route, she made the trip back to the sleeping area in record time.

Perhaps it had something to do with the men in her way taking one look at her terrifying, ice-blue stare, and getting out of her way.

Eve sank further and further into herself, finding that same hollow distance as before, allowing her mind to disengage and escape the trauma of what had very nearly happened to her as her feet brought her closer and closer to Easy Company, and the safety that came in numbers.

She was nearly there, sidling through the thin rows between the towers of racks, when she came to a knot of Easy Company men blocking her path forward.

Someone jostled her out of the fog. There was a blockade of men keeping her from going forward, and more shoving up behind her to keep her from going back. From the yelling, she figured there was some sort of fight going on at the heart of the eight-man-deep pile in front of her. She didn’t know – nor did she particularly care – what the fight was about. They were in her way, and she was desperate for the safety of her rack.

No one ever bothered her in her rack.

A wild fist slammed into her cheekbone. It knocked her back into one of the metal bars supporting the racks hard enough for them to ripple like an ocean tide from the force.

It yanked her back to her senses.

She spat out the blood that flooded her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek.

 _Enough_ , she thought, spitting again. _I’ve had enough_. No longer was she on autopilot, no longer was she just trying to get away – Eve was entirely fed up with these juvenile boys and being pushed around.

She snapped. Something – some rage she hadn’t even realized she was carrying – completely overwhelmed her. She had one moment of clarity. A blissful moment where she was poised on a precipice and the wave of emotion towered over her. She was swept away in the tidal wave, helplessly tossed about without any control.

She came up swinging. Fighting blindly, using brute force and not much else, to try and bully her way through the crowd.

She lost track of herself.

Eve didn’t care who was in front of her. Whoever he was, he was in her way. If he didn’t get out of her way on his own, she was going to make him.

Another person clipped her on the same cheek as before but closer to her eye socket. It knocked her from her rage and firmly into exasperation.

“God-fucking-damnit!” she cursed, but her senses had returned. She grabbed the still flailing fist and yanked the man’s arm up behind his back, before propelling him away from the fight.

Her movements, panic driven before, were deliberate, and all the more deliberately painful because of it.

Slowly, finally, she waded her way through the throng. The men she’d pulled out did not try to rejoin the scrap after she’d passed them, but instead wondered, as they soothed their new pains, what on earth had possessed the normally even-tempered girl?

Nearing the center of the knot of men, someone walloped her again, roughly in the same spot on her cheekbone as the first fist, her third strike on the same side of her face.

Maybe she needed to look into more hand-to-hand training if she kept letting herself get hit in the face.

“Goddamn mother-fucking assholes!” she raved, shaking off the last of her daze as she slammed her fist into the startled man’s face in revenge. He hadn’t meant to hit her, that was plain, but he had, and so she felt well within her rights to hit him back.

Gradually, the fight broke up.

Eve moved through the dispersing men like a knife through butter in her frantic determination to get to her rack. Her rage had burned out as fast as it had ignited. She glared at the last few guys in front of her, who’d stopped brawling when the men around them had been pulled away. Registering her icy glare they quickly – wisely – got out of her way.

She stumbled into the open air, disoriented now that she was free of the tight press of bodies. From there it was a matter of moments until she found her row and scrambled up the ladder of bed-frames to throw herself into the tight space next to a startled Roe – immeasurably grateful that they’d ended up with racks along the wall.

The medic watched Eve put her back to the frigid metal of the ship’s hull – the shock of cold helping her ground herself in this moment, keeping her mind from the chaos she’d just escaped – and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them.

She didn’t even notice, much less acknowledge, his presence.

A few moments ago, he’d been resolutely dozing, and absolutely ignoring the fight going on below him. He’d heard the ruckus start up and had decided to let the idiots nurse their own wounds if they were stupid enough to get into a brawl, on a boat, over Sobel of all things.

And then he was rudely woken by Buchanan scrambling over him to get to her own cot. He held onto his annoyance when he saw her trembling form curled up in a tight ball, ice-glazed eyes the only part of her face that he could see.

“Buchanan?” he said, trying to draw her attention and failing, “Evelyn? You alright?” he said.

When he reached out to touch her shoulder, she flinched entirely away from him, jamming a fingernail into the base of one of his nails. He let her go with a yelp.

Eve met his eyes with horror. “Oh God, Doc, I’m so sorry,” she said, clearly back to herself.

He smiled disarmingly at her as he shook out the hand she’d clawed like he would after a bee sting. “Hey, Buchanan, you alright?” he said, trying to draw her attention away from the fact that she’d drawn blood.

She gave him a smile she didn’t feel. “Yeah, Doc, I’m fine,” she lied.

“You’re not,” he insisted, worried. “Let me see.”

“See what?” she protested.

He glared at her, and she let the pretense drop and raised her nose from her knees. His sharp eyes zoned in to the darkening bruise.

He slid over to her, tilting her chin so he could get a better look at her cheek. Roe’s hands were cool as they ghosted over the purpling skin.

“It’s just a bruise,” she said, not sure whether or not she was reassuring him or herself.

“Yeah,” he agreed, also noticing that her pupils were blown wide with fear. “You gonna let me see your hands now, _chérie_?” he said, the endearment slipping out before he could call it back.

“ _Chérie_?” she asked, deliberately distracting herself as Roe grabbed her still trembling hands and turned them over to run gentle fingers along the abraded knuckles, noting the blood under her nails.

Understanding overtook the Cajun. Some bastard had put his hands on her, and gotten a fair bit more than he bargained for by the state of her hands. _He probably punched her in the face in retaliation,_ Roe thought, looking over the blossoming bruise. “It means ‘dear’ in French,” he replied absently, struggling to keep his voice steady.

She hummed, but said nothing more on the matter. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he knew French, he was part Cajun. She’d already known what it meant, but she wasn’t sure why he’d called her ‘dear’.

Eve waited until he was satisfied and let her hands go. “Thanks, Doc,” she said, trying not to let her voice tremble.

“You need anything?” he asked already fishing for aspirin in his bag.

“No,” she said, lying down on her bed. “I’m fine.”

Roe pursed his lips, but let her settle without forcing the pills on her. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be here if you change your mind.”

“I know,” she said, closing her eyes to nurse her wounds in private.

Roe politely ignored the tears of enraged indignation and remembered fright that trickled down her cheeks, little rivers of fire and shame.

Quicker than she expected, sleep swallowed her and she gave into unconsciousness, trusting Roe to have her back while she was asleep. He said he’d be there after all, and he’d been good on his word thus far.

-

Floyd Talbert made his way below, feeling immensely better after the pills had kicked in. He still felt it every time the ship rolled out from under his feet, but it didn’t yank his stomach with him anymore.

He pushed his way through sweaty, miserable guys feeling a lot less claustrophobic now that his stomach wasn’t going to stage a revolt on him.

He couldn’t keep his mind from straying back to Buchanan and her odd behavior on deck. He’d never known her to back down from anything, but she’d looked so spooked. A knot of unease threatened to undo the work of the sea sickness pills.

Floyd knew he wouldn’t get any peace until he checked on the girl.

With decisive action that served him well as a soldier, Talbert abruptly changed direction, deftly ignoring the cursing protests from the guys in his wake colliding with each other.

He figured she was bunked this way, amidst the rest of Second Platoon on the port side of the ship.

He slipped through the cramped quarters, hoping his directional sense hadn’t let him down as his eyes drifted over hundreds of unfamiliar faces. By chance, his eyes stuttered on good ol’ Joe Toye, stretched out on his rack, fiddling with an impressive switchblade that caught the light and shoved it into Floyd’s eyes.

“Hey, Toye,” he greeted the man when he’d reached his rack, relieved to see a plethora of Easy Company’s Second Platoon taking up the space around the dark-haired man.

“You don’t look so good, Tab,” Malarkey commented from two bunks up the row, setting down his magazine. “Did you get caught up in the fight?”

“Fight?” asked Floyd.

“Pah!” snarled Guarnere, fingering his jaw and wincing when he touched somewhere tender.

“What do you want, Tab?” interrupted Toye before the two men could start rehashing the scuffle again.

“Any of you fellas seen Buchanan?” Floyd asked before he could second guess himself. It wasn’t something the guys of Easy Company did, look out for the girl, but he’d come too far to back out now.

Toye raised an eyebrow but gestured further up the row with a flick of his blade. “She’s up there next to the doc, I think.”

“Thanks, Toye,” Floyd said, ignoring the now bickering pair as Malark poked fun at Guarnere for something.

It didn’t take the sergeant long to locate the brooding doctor.

“Hey, Doc,” he greeted the man. “Have you seen Buchanan anywhere?”

The Cajun’s eyes flicked tellingly to the side, drawing Talbert’s attention to the sleeping woman.

“Jesus,” he said. Ev was curled up like a child under the Doc’s proverbial wing. She looked fragile, and completely unlike the woman he’d come to know.

His eyes narrowed when he realized the dirt on her jaw looked more like a bruise.

 _Has she been fighting?_ She certainly hadn’t done well from what he could see. _Was she the cause of that fight Marlark and Guarnere were bickering about?_

“She alright, Doc?”

“She’ll be fine,” snarled Roe, sounding like he’d answered the question before.

She shifted slightly and the bright bare bulbs from above caught the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

His heart froze. Never, not once, had he ever seen Buchanan cry. Not after everything they’d thrown at her. She’d survived every obstacle stoically and he wondered with a grim recognition what had happened to her to cause it. _Something terrible,_ he knew feeling cold.

He wondered if it was enough to finally push her to give up being a soldier entirely, and couldn’t help but feel bitterly disappointed. He’d been among those who’d wanted her to go for her own safety, but to see it on her face was something he hadn’t prepared himself for. It was harder than he thought.

“I’ll just come back later,” he said, excusing himself to go back to his bunk, sure Roe would keep an eye on her.

Tab spent the walk back to his own bunk looking at each man for the one who’d broken Evelyn’s spirit. When he found the bastard, he was going to regret messing with Easy Company.

-

Eve spent the rest of the boat ride with at least one member of Easy Company. She wasn’t going to be caught on her own again. Eve was just grateful that she was welcome amongst the men, even if it was only on the outskirts.

Roe was the easiest to stick with. He seemed to have drawn his own conclusion about her bruised jaw and bloody hands, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to stick with her, even on tedious trips like to the bathroom.

The ship was small enough that she occasionally ran into the man who’d groped her, mostly recognizable by the raking scratches on his face and neck.

Apparently, they were fairly unpopular because each time she crossed their paths they had more bruises than the last. Soon, they stopped meeting her eyes altogether, and she wondered who they’d crossed.

Perhaps they’d groped some other soldier, thinking it was her.

Regardless, they didn’t bother her again.

-

It didn’t take long for Bill Guarnere to hear the rumors. He’d stopped Tab, looking thunderous after checking on Buchanan. It hadn’t taken much to get the story from the man, and even less to convince other witnesses to step forward once he asked the right questions – in the right way.

Evelyn Buchanan had gotten into a scrap and defended herself from some idiots from the 502nd. Tab and Bill both figured it was more than that, but if anyone knew for certain they weren’t saying.

She’d fought like a wildcat.

And she’d been hurt. A huge shiner covered the left side of her face, and she’d stuck abnormally close to Doc Roe for the rest of the trip.

But Easy Company wasn’t going to let one of their own fend for themselves.

She might be just a girl, but she was their girl.

Those men would think twice before they looked at a member of Easy Company as easy pickings if Bill had anything to say about it.

-

Despite the close quarters, Sobel tried to lead them in calisthenics. There was just no room for them to all organize and do it though, and it became yet another thing they mocked him for after he gave up out of frustration. With a little better planning or forethought, it could have worked, but no one was willing to point it out to the man at the expense of their free time.

Eve didn’t let the limited space keep her from doing whatever exercises she could independently. The guys, who she carefully made sure were close enough to spectate, laughed at her. But Eve was scared enough to realize that she could not afford to lose any of her physical endurance. She had the furthest to fall if she had to start over. Finding new and increasingly difficult ways to keep in shape also kept the boredom at bay.

Well, almost.

The rest of the trip passed with more boredom than anything of note, for which Eve was thankful. She did manage to clean up at a few ill-advised poker games with Roe. By her fourth straight win, the man vowed to never play with her again, and he stuck to it no matter how much she cajoled him.

Not eager to lose any more partners at cards, Eve played many games of solitaire.

-

Eve felt like kissing the ground when they finally disembarked in England. Some fellas actually got down and did it.

The 506 was stationed in a small town called Aldbourne, half way between Bristol and London. It was the beginning of autumn and the September air was brisk with fog and cold.

The Army had transformed a local barn into a barracks for the men to be housed in, while the officers and NCO’s were stationed with families.

And Eve.

When she’d found out about her housing arrangements, Eve marched into Winters’s office, ready to argue him out of it.

She did not like the idea of being different from the men once again, especially after she’d fought so hard to be equal.

She found him setting up HQ with Nixon.

“Why am I being given special treatment?” she demanded, too outraged to care how inappropriate her outburst was. “I should be in the barracks with everyone else!”

The two men traded looks.

“It’s not really my decision-” Winters started.

“Look, Buchanan,” Nixon said, taking over before Winters even really had the chance to answer. “You aren’t being separated for military reasons. Command decided, for the sake of the locals, that it would be best if you were put in separate lodging to the men while we’re on English soil. We’re trying not to have an international scandal on our hands. It makes the English happier if you’re kept away from the men as is _proper_ for a young lady.”

“With all due respect, sir, this is not Victorian England. The English have been fighting long enough that they are well used to seeing women, not men, in uniforms  
and pants, and working in jobs that used to be solely for men.”

“I understand your frustration, Buchanan,” placated Winters. “But this is command’s decision.”

Eve didn’t like it, but she understood the logic well enough. She saluted the men without a word, and left their office.

Stuff sack in hand, she found the paper with her new address listed on it and set about locating the house.

The idyllic street was lined with brick structures, two or three homes in each structure, all in dour colors of brown or gray with bright whitewashed window sills. There were but a few standalone houses.

The town itself was nestled into the crook of several hills, taking up most of the basin, with hills and fields stretching high above even the tallest structure. The main road cut right through town with only one fork for the church. The streets were lined with hedge so thick it was more practical to go over it than threw it. Despite the late season, the trees hadn’t yet begun to shift to orange, and still hosted all their leaves.

The road was paved smooth, a pity because Eve had expected cobblestone, and had rather built up the idea of an English village in her mind. Aldbourne was everything she’d hoped for in some ways, and woefully short in others.

She followed the road from where the truck they’d rode from the airport dropped them off at the barn, and hiked up the hill to the outskirt of town, just two houses before the road narrowed down to a single lane.

She double checked the numbers on her slip of paper before knocking on the painted brown door.

She waited. And waited.

She knocked again, and rang the bell.

“Coming!” cried a female voice from inside, sounding flustered. “I’m coming. Dear lord, Cynthia, you know how I hate that blasted-“ the door swung open. A stout woman with graying blonde hair pinned fashionably up, with warm blue eyes. “…bell.”

Eve shifted, and bit her lip, trying not to be charmed by the woman before they’d even been introduced. She couldn’t help it, she liked the lady already.

“Oh, heavens me,” said the woman, presumably the mistress of the house. “I quite mistook you for my dear friend Cynthia coming over to borrow sugar for the pie she’s baking for this evening. She knows well enough that I hate it when she rings the bell, which is precisely why she makes a point to lean on it every time she comes to visit. It makes such an awful racket.”

“It’s quite all right,” said Eve, smiling, “I completely understand.”

“Still, do forgive me, dear. Now what can I do for you?”

“I’m Corporal Buchanan,” began Eve.

“The soldier! Oh yes, I had quite forgotten you lot were arriving today,” said the woman, impressively not mentioning that she’d undoubtedly expected a young man.

“Yes, ma’am, just arrived this morning.”

“Well, come in, come in. Out of the cold, dear,” said the woman ushering her inside.

Eve looked around the cozy home. It was small, but seemed warm after the brisk English weather. There was light wallpaper and dark wooden trimmings. There was lace on the windows for curtains, and small paintings of flowers and landscapes on the walls. It was comfortable.

“You must be hungry,” coaxed the woman, leading the way to the kitchen.

Well trained by now to never turn down free food, Eve replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sit down, dear, I think I have some scones around here somewhere,” the woman muttered as she pottered around the kitchen. “I’ll put on some tea.”

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am.” Eve sat at the kitchen table and watched the woman pull down a teapot, fill it from the tap, and put it over the burner. Only when she’d gotten everything situated did the woman come over, bearing a plate of white biscuits and offered one to Eve. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“My name is Margaret, dear,” said Margaret firmly. “No more of this ma’am nonsense. While you’re here, you’re family.”

Touched, Eve could only mumble a small “thank you” as she sampled the scone. It was dry and crumbled as soon as she touched it, but it was the first bit of home cooking she’d had in a year and a half. It tasted like a small bit of heaven.

She must have moaned her appreciation, because Margaret’s face lit up in delight.

“Now, you’ll be living upstairs in my son, Henry’s, room. Charles, my husband should be home around six for dinner. Why don’t you take some time to get settled in and freshen up, and we can talk again at dinner.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Eve.

“Margaret,” reminded the woman.

“Margaret,” Eve agreed, and went to do what she was told.

The room was small, with a bed pushed into a corner under the window, a bedside table next to it with an alarm clock on it, a basic trunk at the foot of the bed, a wooden armoire on the opposite wall, a small writing desk and chair on the third wall, and not much else.

It was wonderful.

Eve sat down on the quilted bedspread and bounced. The bed was so soft and lovely. She ran a gentle hand over the patterns and swirls of color imagining all the time and love that was put into this quilt.

With a groan – her muscles were aching now that she wasn’t too nervous to pay attention to them – she stood up from the bed and began to unpack her things into the trunk at the foot of the bed. It was fairly easy, seeing that all of her things were identical.

First things first, she hung her dress greens up, hoping she wouldn’t have to iron it. She looked at it critically, and decided not to risk Sobel’s wrath and iron it anyway. She wondered if Margaret had an iron she would teach her to use, or if she could point out a good laundry service in town. Eve wouldn’t mind paying so she didn’t have to do it herself. Training started up tomorrow, and long experience told her that she would be too exhausted to properly maintain her gear for the first few days, improvised fitness routine or not.

When she’d finished, she wondered if she had enough time for a bit of a nap. She would never understand why being in cramped quarters so long could make her so tired.

Glancing at the clock, she decided to risk it and lay her head down on the pillow.

Something crinkled. Eve lifted the pillow up, and found nothing. Inquisitive, she put her hand inside the pillowcase and pulled the offending piece of paper out.

It was a letter. It read:

_Dear Stranger,_

_If you’ve found this letter, then Mum and Da have managed to rent out this room. I hope you got it for a fair rate and you’re not too disappointed with the view._

Eve checked the view and found that it looked out over the valley in such a way that it took her breath away.

_There was some talk of an American regiment coming to dear old Aldbourne, so if you’re a yank, I say “welcome,” and “It’s about bloody time.” I myself joined the fight in ’39, and I can reliably inform you that Africa is very hot._

_Feel free to use anything you need from the desk or trunk. I’m afraid I couldn’t convince my mother to send me everything, so what’s left, I offer to you freely._

_If I could impose on you, one soldier to another, I am dearly missing my fiancé, Mary. My mother will probably introduce you at some point if you lurk around the house. I’m told that Mary comes over faithfully for afternoon tea on Tuesdays and Fridays, but one can never tell with letters. I confess, I worry awfully about her and how she’s getting on_

_Also, and I do hope it’s not too much to ask, would you please send word of how my parents are faring? They have generous hearts, which does them credit, but sometimes allows them to be taken advantage of._

_I will enclose my unit’s regiment number, which should be enough for a letter to find its way to me._

_If you would be so kind to write to me of my loved ones welfare, I will be forever in your debt._

_Good luck, sir, and God’s speed._

_Signed,_  
_Lieutenant Henry Williams_

Eve set down the letter and made her way to the desk, eager to pen her reply.

_Dear Stranger,_

_Your parents have indeed generously offered me a place in their house. I must admit that your room is wonderful. I’ll surely be the envy of my unit._

_Your mother is as you describe her, gracious and loving._

Here she stopped. It wouldn’t do to write out a letter with so sparse information. She vowed to pick it up as soon as she had something more of note to write to the man about.

She capped her pen and went back to the bed to lie down for that nap, and spent the time tossing and turning, thinking about a soldier already off to war, and the prospect of one day joining him.

-

That evening, Eve met Charles and found herself just as charmed by him as she was by his wife. The man was genial, and gave her a firm handshake upon meeting her. He’d obviously been warned by his wife to expect a woman soldier, and didn’t even bat an eye at her uniform.

She settled down to dinner with the couple and savored her first home cooked meal, complete with thick gravy, roasted lamb, and mashed potatoes.

“This is wonderful,” she said, smiling warmly at Margaret. “Thank you.”

“Well, it’s the best I could do on such short notice. Don’t expect fair like this every night, now love, what with the rationing and all, but we get by alright.”

Eve nodded and tucked in, savoring the succulent flavors.

“How did you find your room?” said Charles, voice deep and comforting.

“It’s perfect,” declared Eve. “I have everything I could possibly need. Thank you for providing it for me. I know I’m not what you expected.”

“Nonsense,” declared Margaret. “We asked for a soldier, and we got one. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

It was Eve’s turn to blush and duck her head. No one had ever just accepted her as a soldier so easily before, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“Did you get a letter from Henry today, dear,” Charles asked his wife.

“Yes, I did. I’ll fetch it after dinner.”

“I found a letter from Henry in my pillow this afternoon,” said Eve. “He asked me to look after you.”

Margaret beamed. “That boy,” she said with a mother’s pride. “Takes after his father, he does. Would you mind terribly if we saw it?”

“Not at all. I can go fetch it now if you’d like?”

“It’ll keep until after dinner,” said Charles.

Eve finished eating and spent the evening getting to know the small family better.

One of Margaret’s favorite pastimes was to tell stories about the hazards of raising a small boy, and she was thrilled to have a new audience.

Henry was a doting son, who apparently wrote to his parents often, but got into mischief as a child.

“He ran through the house, starkers, missing a tooth, and streaking mud and muck all over my walls and says to me, ‘It’s okay, Mum, you should see the other boy,’ I switched his hide so well he didn’t sit down for a week, _and_ I made him scrub the walls,” retold Margaret with a giggle. “That was the last time he ever came in without hosing himself off, mark my words.”

Eve laughed along and realized that she was absolutely relaxed and happy.

It was an odd feeling after so long.

-

Despite Margaret and Charles’s easy acceptance of her, Eve tried to make them as comfortable as possible. She took on the chores she felt they would have asked of any young girl staying in their home whenever she wasn’t occupied by the Army and training. This included laundry, cooking, mending, cleaning, and various other household chores. Well, she did them to the best of her limited ability, and more often than not, she spent the time getting in Margaret’s way as the woman showed her the ropes.

She met their son’s fiancé, Mary, and liked her. The woman had a good head on her shoulders and knew what she wanted out of life. She worked in a machine shop, welding together ravaged equipment from the front.

If she were honest, it was nice to be treated like a girl again, for a little while, without having to worry about the consequences. She’d never admit to it, but she had missed the peace that could be found in easy chores.

Henry sent letters to his parents frequently, almost as often as they replied.

Eve finished her reply, thanking him for his generosity and hospitality, and offering him insight into how his parents were doing. This marked his addition to the list of names that she wrote letters to frequently. They were the same age, but he was very much a veteran soldier, and offered her advice when he could.

He asked after his girl in town often, and Eve happily, truthfully reported that the woman missed him dearly.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. Mutiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company arrives in England.
> 
> “In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.” ― Dwight D. Eisenhower 
> 
> Now: The invasion of Europe is on the horizon, but Easy Company has other problems as training resumes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft and Laura001 continue to be awesome.

-Chapter 9-

Aldbourne was by far the most picturesque place they’d ever been stationed, but that was quickly marred by the fact that training had picked up once more, and with new intensity.

They had new lessons including: bayonet fighting, advanced hand to hand, magnetic declination, rifle training, strategic maneuvers, and learning how to dig foxholes in order to maintain a prepared position.

Eve’s least favorite was bayonet fighting. She thought she’d hated hand to hand before, but bayonet combat was worse. The idea of having to stab a man, get up close and personal with him and then gut him with a knife churned her stomach. She had a lot of problems getting over it. The drill sergeant screamed at her often because of it. She wasn’t alone. To Eve’s considerable private relief, most of the men seemed to have issues with it as well. At least the men couldn’t fault her for not wanting to stab someone to death as a result of some feminine weakness.

In addition, the ground was hard and wet, with very soft grass over top, which meant that her clothes were forever stained green.

Luckily, after raising a young boy, Margaret was well versed in the task of getting these tough stains out without forking over a small fortune to the laundress.

They got a cake of soap, which nearly made her swoon, and a package of razorblades once they’d gotten settled. On the Samaria, Eve had honestly never felt more disgusting. No one changed, no one got showers. She'd gotten used to the smell by the fourth day, unable to even smell the body odor stench anymore, which she could only conclude was a good thing. She managed to scrounge a razor and shaved her legs, the hidden indulgence made her feel cleaner than she had been in quite a while.

Shaving wasn’t exactly the norm for women, and certainly not in England, but it was an indulgent habit that Elizabeth had introduced her to several years ago, and once she’d started, it had been too hard to go back. She’d endured unbelievable itchiness for over a week before remembering how to ignore the hair on her legs and under her arms.

She was perfectly willing to go through it all again if shaving it off continued to feel this wonderfully clean.

The fellas were happy to see a pub again, even one as subdued as the one in Aldbourne. But there were rules of politeness that made having fun more difficult for the guys. Apparently the beer wasn't even cold. Eve didn't really understand the difference, but apparently it was important, so she didn't mention her confusion.

Eve did not indulge in the nightlife offered by the quiet English village. None of the men invited her along when they went out drinking, and besides, getting drunk sounded like a terrible idea. Instead, she spent those nights with her host family studing whatever maps she could scrounge of Europe over and over again. Looking for probable trouble spots and trying to memorize the field manuals as soon as they were given to her.

One night, Eve was helping Margret with dinner. She hadn’t had much call for cooking before joining the army, and after the feast on her first night, she was eager to learn everything she could from the older woman.

“So tell me,” said Margret with a smile as she chopped through potatoes with brisk efficiency. “What’s a girl like you doing in the Army?”

“Hmm?” hummed Eve, surprised by the question. She looked up from minding the mince – ground meat – that she was supposed to be browning to find the Margret’s sharp blue eyes studying her. “Oh,” she said. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Really?” asked Margret with a wry turn of her lips.

“Yes,” Eve said, defensively. “When I was a little girl, my papa would tell me stories about his war days for bedtime stories. As soon as I was old enough to read, I devoured everything about warfare I could. He even let me learn how to shoot and hunt. Momma thought I was outta my mind,” she confessed. “She always wanted a daughter who she could dress up and show off.”

Margret laughed. “I can see why. I imagine you’d be quite fetching all dressed up. That haircut does nothing for you, dear.”

“I know,” said Eve, self-consciously touching the bristles at the back of her head. She’d had to get it cut again once they hit England, and she wasn’t used to it being quite this short.

“It’s just-,” Eve paused, gathering her thoughts, and then tried again, “The stories Papa told me were all about the men he fought with, the bond that forms between men in combat together. He told me I’d never find something to equal it.”

She set down her spoon and turned away from the stove to give Margret her full attention. “Blood and gore doesn’t bother me. And fighting’s not too hard once you’ve got the training for it. But what I really wanted, why I joined the Army despite the whole world telling me I would never make it, was to find that friendship he always talked about.”

“And have you?”

Eve turned back to the stove, flipping the darkened meat over. “I don’t know,” she said, thinking both of Roe – who was now dearer to her than any of her friends back home in his own way – and of the way the men of Easy Company had treated her since she’d joined them.

-

“Eve!” cried a familiar voice from the crowd.

It was the weekly farmers market. The town square was lined with booths and stalls filled with what the farmers had gathered from their harvest. The pickings were probably far slimmer than they’d been pre-war, but there was still plenty to be had if the soldiers wanted to spend a small fortune on it.

Eve looked around and spied Mary, Henry’s sweetheart, making her way over. The woman was a petite brunette, who’d been remarkably kind when they’d met over tea. It was easy to see why Henry had fallen in love with her.

“Good afternoon, Mary,” greeted Eve.

Mary gave her a hug. “It’s good to see you! I missed seeing you for tea these last two weeks.”

Eve smiled as they started walking through the market. “I had training.”

“Oh? Anything interesting?”

“Not particularly,” deflected Eve, not wanting to talk about the way bayonet fighting made her nauseous.

“It’s her,” someone said, apparently trying to whisper at her friends and doing a poor job of it.

Eve looked over. It had come from a gaggle of nurses. A corps of nurses and doctors had been stationed in Aldbourne temporarily before they were shipping out for Africa.

Eve had very little occasion to interact with the nurses, and was in no hurry to remedy this judging by the sharp looks she was receiving from the gaggling trio.

“I’ve heard about her, the girl pretending to be a soldier.”

“How many of them do you think she’s slept with?” the original speaker brazenly asked.

Eve knew her cheeks were bright red with humiliation. She’d heard it all before of course, but there was something different about hearing it in front of Mary, who she wanted to make a good impression on.

“I don’t know,” said the previously silent member. “If I got to be with all those fine looking men, I think I’d like to join the army too!”

The women giggled.

“I hope she hasn’t ruined that lovely Sergeant over there,” said another, nodding significantly to her left.

Eve and Mary’s eyes subconsciously followed her direction and found Guarnere and Talbert making their way through the crowd.

Eve had been living in a barracks full of men long enough to know that these two were the two worst about womanizing, wherever there were willing women to be had.

“Buchanan!” said Guarnere, making a beeline for her.

“Guarnere,” she said, acknowledging him.

“Who is your lovely friend?” he said, leering at Mary.

The woman took a small step to the side, putting herself discreetly behind Eve.

“Back off, Guarnere,” Eve said quietly. “Mary has a fiancé in Africa.”

Guarnere didn’t comment that he’d bedded many such girls, supposedly waiting faithfully for their sweetheart to come home when they were really spending their time in his, and whoever else’s, bed.

The British, who'd been engaged since '39, had most of their troops off in Italy and North Africa, trying to push up into Europe through the Mediterranean and leaving all their beautiful women lonely and happy enough to see menfolk, even if they were Yanks. A lot of fraternizing happened between the men and civilian women now that they were here. England sure wasn't America, but it wasn't Camp Toccoa either. There was nothing keeping the men from drifting to the pub or the dance halls when they were off duty, and many of them did.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Guarnere said instead. “Any friend of Ev’s is a friend of mine.”

Eve winced at the nickname but let it slide as Mary loosened up behind her.

“If you’re interested, there are some nurses over there that are more than willing to let you buy them a drink,” Eve suggested.

Guarnere looked over at the women, who’d already been approached by Talbert, and the redhead who was making eyes at him over Tab’s shoulder.

“I shouldn’t keep the lady’s waiting,” he said with a bold grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mary. See you bright and early tomorrow, Ev.”

And with that he sauntered off.

Evelyn let out a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry about him,” she said to Mary, who was smiling at her.

“Don’t be,” she assured the soldier. “He was sweet. I think he likes you.”

“Guarnere doesn’t like anybody,” said Eve with certainty.

“If you say so,” said Mary. “I don’t think a man who didn’t like you would have listened half as well when you told him to back off.”

-

They’d been in Aldbourne for a few months. Eve was also back to stockpiling smokes and chocolate from their weekly rations figuring now was the best time before they were inevitably deployed where supplies was less readily available.

Life had settled into a comfortable routine, when command predictably threw them a curve ball and started them on field exercises.

On this particular day, Easy Company was deployed in two platoons in order to capture a crossroad intersection in the town over. Sobel had divided his force, half into his team, and half led by Lieutenant Winters. Sobel had taken his pick of First Platoon and a smattering of Third, while Winters took Second (which included Eve) and what was left of Third.

They’d set off in two different directions to create a pincer movement, and planned to rendezvous in two hours.

Winters had his platoon crouched behind a hedgerow, waiting for Captain Sobel to join them for the attack.

Eve tried to stay alert, crouched next to the hedge in a squat that kept her on her feet – just in case she needed to move quickly and couldn’t afford wasting time scrambling to get up – and low enough that she was well under the hedge line.

The position had become painful after the minutes, excruciating by twenty, and then worst of all, blissfully numb in thirty. She wasn’t entirely sure she would be able to stand up at this point, even if she was allowed.

Eve did her best to shift a bit to wake her sleeping legs, but not enough that she made noise and gave away their position. It was an interesting challenge.

Sure the enemy was technically imaginary, but the punishment wouldn’t be if she gave her unit away and got them “killed”. The instructors and upper brass had a habit of showing up, unannounced to observe.

Lipton shifted from line a few men in front of her. She read the impatience in his gaze easily enough as he glanced back at the waiting squad and wondered, _What is he planning?_

“Stay here,” he whispered _sotto voce_ to Guarnere who was at the head of the line. .

Eve watched with some incredulity as Lipton crept forward to meet Winters in the center of their line.

“Sir?” he questioned the Lieutenant just quietly enough for Winters to hear.

English fog enshrouded them like a blanket, a cocoon of soft, deadened sound.

“Sobel’s late,” Winters replied just as quietly as he checked his watch.

Lipton bit his lip, his exasperation and downright frustration plain to see.

The procedure in these situations was clear; they were required to wait until the whole unit was combined so they could take the crossroads with the maximum possible force. There wasn’t any planned resistance, but when lives were at stake, they could take no chances.

They had to wait for their commander until the last possible moment before failure

They were stuck until Sobel arrived with the rest of Easy Company.

Eve hoped the man wasn’t lost or they could be here all day.

They waited for another hour before Winters realized they couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

“If we don’t move now, we’ll fail the mission,” he said to Sergeant Lipton.

“Sir,” Lipton questioned, “without Captain Sobel?”

It was Sobel who was supposed to lead the attack, and Sobel who had the agreed upon plan of attack. Moving without him meant coming up with a plan to capture the objective on the fly.

Attacking without Sobel was an unusual decision for Winters to make, especially since Sobel was merely late, not injured or captured in peaceful England. But parameters of the mission came with a time limit. If they were late, the whole company failed.

“It’s a T-intersection. We improvise.”

Winters laid out his plan with a few quick hand motions.

They were going to attempt a double envelopment, laying down a base of fire to cut the road in all directions. First squad hooked to the right under Lip, Guarnere moved left with the second, and Eve was with Winters as he led third up the middle.

Eve waited for the signal, and then followed Winters up and over the hedge, falling into at a crouched run through the town, keeping her eyes up and open for enemy movement. She felt hyperaware, and perhaps a little ridiculous pretending that the enemy was gunning for her, but she tried to force herself into the seriousness of the situation.

An old man, tweed suit, white hair under his cap, and on his bicycle, ambled around the corner.

The bike squeaked to a halt, brakes noisy in the damp English weather. The man put his feet down and laboriously turned his bike around and out of the way of the incoming soldiers.

After just a moment, he came back around the corner, skidding to a halt just in front of Winters as he waved Eve’s squad forward around him.

Sparing the man no more than a glance, Eve hurried to her position.

“You’ve done it now, yanks. You’ve captured me,” she heard the old man say as she made it to the hedgerow that was her target position.

Eve snorted as she mounted the hedge to join her squad on the other side. Turning back, she saw the man with his hands up, surrendering to Winters. _What a character_.

Movement on her left drew her attention to the platoon barreling up the road; a man in a ridiculous bomber jacket at the helm called “Hi-Yo Silver!” as he charged up the street with all the subtlety of a charging, snarling bull.

If she had been an enemy sniper, Eve would have easily identified the commander and picked him off. While the jacket was probably very warm, it was also the antithesis of subtlety, and the fluffy white collar stood out sharply in the grey and green countryside.

As it was, Eve kept her sights on the incoming force as she’d been trained, despite knowing full well that they were friendly.

"Would that be the enemy?" She heard the old man ask.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Winters answered, glancing down at his watch. It was the closest she’d ever heard the man come to mutiny.

She glanced at the men around her, but no one else seemed to have heard the exchange. It was probably for the best. She tried to refocus on monitoring Sobel’s progress, but the movement in the town was distracting. And reasonably, it was just as likely that the enemy could be hiding in the town as snipers, waiting for an opportune moment.

Winters saluted the man with a smile and then headed over to the hedge where his soldiers were waiting. “Good work Second Platoon,” he called. “We took the objective.”

Sobel, finally where he was supposed to be, but over an hour too late to be effective there, took in the scene of his own company all aiming at him like an enemy, with bewilderment.

Eve wondered if he was shocked that they were able to actually accomplish something without his heavy handed leadership, or merely resentful that he’d been shown up by his XO.

-

Eve was headed for the mess hall, which was a large and lofty barn that had been retrofitted with several picnic tables for the soldiers to eat together and hear general announcements. Her spirits were high after the successful mission and she could smell the roasting meat from here.

She was just walking past Battalion HQ when her path was blocked.

Soulful brown eyes looked pitifully up from beneath ridiculously long lashes.

She stared at the cow blocking the road, and suddenly realized that there were dozens of bovines wandering freely and decimating the front lawn of HQ.

They were absolutely everywhere.

Where had they come from? They certainly hadn’t been there this morning.

She caught sight of the barely hidden glee on Luz’s face and decided he was a likely source for answers.

“Hey Luz,” she called, drawing his attention. He paused to wait for her so she jogged to catch up with him. “Do you know anything about this influx of cattle?”

He snorted a laugh, but turned towards her to confide, “Major Horton ordered Captain Sobel to cut a fence that was impeding his troop movement.”

Eve thought that over with quite a bit of confusion. “But Major Horton’s in London,” she told him, baffled.

“You don’t say,” he agreed with a bold grin. And then it clicked.

She laughed. “You are a bad man, Luz,” she said to his obvious satisfaction and clapped him on the shoulder before getting in line for chow. “And damn lucky Sobel doesn’t give a fig about getting to know us unimportant grunts, or he’d have you court-martialed so fast your head would spin.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said. She seemed to have forgiven him, he realized with some relief. She’d always been civil of course, but this easy camaraderie had been missing from their interactions for a long time. He was glad she was comfortable enough with him to let her guard down once more.

“You gonna eat that apple?” he asked her teasingly, trying to keep the lighthearted mood, but still eyeing the fruit she’d put on her plate.

“If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have picked it up, Luz,” she said, exasperated with him. “Get your own.”

He smiled at her, just messing with her because he could, and she knew it. In a moment of childish exasperation, Eve threw the apple at his head. It was unfortunate that he caught it and took a bite from it in satisfaction, laughing at her gaily.

She got back in line to get another stupid apple.

George Luz was still infuriating, but perhaps not a bad sort after all.

-

The next day, Captain Sobel court-martialed Lt. Winters on a bogus charge for derelict of duty, as was his wont when he was upset.

Eve guessed it was a combination of things that caused Sobel to launch a campaign against his own Executive Officer. Winters had shown him up yesterday by taking the objective without Sobel, while the Captain was lost yet again, and thus proved that Sobel was an unnecessary link in the chain of command. This disgrace was compounded when the platoon he’d been directly commanding had humiliated him, not once, but twice, first when they had impersonated the officer, and again when he had to explain to Lt. Col. Strayer why he had cut the fence, only to find that Maj. Horton was on leave in London. It had been all over the Lt. Col.’s face that Strayer thought Sobel was either a moron, or that he was shifting the blame. Neither opinion was good for Sobel or his career. The man wanted blood and Winters was already one of his favorite targets due to his popularity with the men.

Rather than be cowed into submission, or let the petty man get away with it this time, Winters decided to take a stand. He chose to request trial by court-martial in order to defend himself, which was unfortunate for everyone involved because Sink assigned him to Battalion Mess until the whole awkward situation was sorted out.

The whole town knew that the Captain had bungled it. Winters had called his bluff, and the man didn’t have anything in his pocket to back it up.

And yet, Winters being stubborn and putting up a stink _now_ of all times, was dangerous. It meant that the only platoon leader Easy trusted was scrambling eggs while the rest of them were preparing to invade Europe.

Eve was in even more of a pickle. She kept her head down and went about her work quietly. Winters had been rather open in his support of her, but whoever replaced him might not be. Winters had her loyalty, but the best thing she could do for him, the smartest thing, was to blend into the background and not cause problems.

It was hard.

Especially since there were rumblings going through the company that the NCO’s were in cahoots plotting and conspiring to do something big to get Winters back.

But that was all just rumor until she and half her squad watched her squad sergeant Harris and his buddy, sergeant Mike Ranney approach First Sergeant Evans and ask him to a meeting with the rest of the NCOs to discuss “what to do about Sobel.”

Eve closed her eyes and bit her cheek hard to keep from outwardly showing her opinion on the sheer lunacy of asking Sobel’s one and only friend in the company to attend a meeting where they were intending to mutiny against him.

She had to leave before she said something even more monumentally stupid.

It wasn’t like anyone cared what she had to say anyway.

She waited, sitting on her opinion like it was an ever filling balloon, fit to burst at the slightest provocation, and slipping from her control with every moment she kept quiet, until she watched Guarnere excuse himself early from dinner with Martin and Grant. The other NCOs hadn’t even bothered to show up for the meal.

She got up and followed him, knowing it was stupid, so incredibly stupid, but unable to stop.

“Guarnere,” she said, as he joined up with the others just outside the door. “Can I have a minute?”

Guarnere glanced at the other two men and nodded. Martin gave him a warning look to hurry it up, but Grant gave Eve a smile and pulled Martin along to wherever the meet up was taking place.

“What can I do for you, Ev?” Guarnere asked, sensing it was Platoon business that she was here to discuss, not something personal, or she’d probably just have told him over dinner. But it hadn’t escaped his notice that she’d been acting like she had ants in her pants for the last few days.

“It’s not my place to question what you’re doing, sir,” she said, forcing herself to keep it formal. “But you do realize that if whatever it is you’re planning doesn’t work and you lot are taken out and shot for mutiny, that you’re abandoning Easy Company too? We’ll lose any defense between us and Sobel if they bring in new Non-Com’s to be under his thumb – and they’d be well and truly under his thumb after they’ve made examples of you.”

She paused to try and let the gravity weigh on him a bit, and to see if he had something to reply.

He seemed too stunned to say anything.

“So make sure that it works, okay?” she told him, and having said her piece, turned back towards the mess hall to finish whatever was left from the vultures she’d been sat with after they’d picked over her unprotected plate.

“Yes, ma’am,” Guarnere replied, a smartass grin on his mug when she turned back. But it softened into a real grin easily enough.

“Good luck,” she said in the distance between them, and then left him alone. She grabbed the remaining scraps of her tray and dumped it. She planned to go hole up in her house.

She didn’t want to get caught up in the shit storm that was coming, so she was going to stay the hell out of the way.

-

Evans did the predictable thing and ratted the mutineers out to Sobel, who reported it to Sink.

The very next day, all of the NCO’s were summoned to the Colonel’s office to face the music. For what could have happened – death, the disbanding of Easy Company entirely – the consequences were relatively mild. Sergeant Ranney was busted back to private, and Sergeant Harris was bounced from the Regiment as punishment for being the instigators of the plot.

Eve knew better. She was well aware that Lipton and Talbert were the two NCOs who felt the most uneasy about Sobel, and his potential to lead the whole Company to catastrophe. Her money was on those two as the ring leaders, but it was just a theory, and certainly not one she was going to spread around. Lip and Tab were some of the most capable NCOs and they actually gave a damn about the men in Easy Company, which was more than she could say about Sobel.

Despite their losses, the NCOs managed to achieve their goal. Sink promoted Sobel out of the Regiment and sent him off to go babysit a jump school for doctors and nurses.

Something else came out of losing two of their NCOs, Guarnere put Eve’s name forward for promotion to Sergeant, and Winters and Sink agreed.

When she’d accepted her stripes, bewildered, she’d asked why.

“You’re levelheaded in the field,” explained Winters. “You explain things calmly and effectively. You’re willing to reach out and teach the other soldiers whatever you can, especially with weapons. You’ve got a good political sense too. You know when to speak up, and when to stay quiet. You care about the men, and you’ve proven yourself to them on your own. I think you’ve got what it takes to handle the responsibility, and I think you can command the respect of a squad if you’re given the chance. You deserve this promotion, Sergeant Buchanan.”

Apparently, the decision had been in the works for a while, but with both Harris and Ranney gone, there was finally a position open for her to fill. And she was going to stay in Winters’s platoon, so he would be around to smooth over any bumps. There was bound to be some hiccoughs in promoting her instead of a man, but Winters could, and did, attest to the budding camaraderie that had built between her and Easy Company. It was Winters’s belief that Eve could handle it.

The answer had flattered her beyond anything she’d ever expected. She vowed to hold onto that faith and try her best to live up to it.

“You’re a damn fine soldier, Buchanan,” Sink said, and that was that.

Not everyone liked the news, but with Lieutenant Winters’s confidence in her, most of the boys were willing to try her. They already knew her for being levelheaded and an incredible shot. Unknown to her, there were actually several who supported her promotion openly.

She walked out of the meeting with Sink and Winters, who’d been the one to officially promote her as the lieutenant of her platoon, as though her shoes had grown wings.

She’d finished eating dinner, and was ready to go back to her lodgings to find some small way of celebrating, when she was waylaid by a beaming Bill Guarnere and Joe Liebgott.

“You’re not running out on us before we can properly celebrate, are ya, Sarge?” drawled Lieb, the first person in her unit to use her new title.

She arched a brow, well used to the way Easy Company chose to celebrate. She wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with it.

They didn’t give her a choice, tucking her under their arms and all but dragging her down to the pub.

When they walked through the door, Eve was stunned to see all of Second Platoon, and the majority of Easy already there, ready to celebrate her promotion with her.

She shook a lot of hands, feeling overwhelmed as people she’d never expected offered their support for her promotion. Eve heaved a sigh of relief on the inside, realizing that it wasn’t going to be the uphill battle she was anticipating.

“Congratulations, Buchanan,” said Denver “Bull” Randleman, a fellow sergeant from First Platoon. He was a calm sort, disinclined to speak unless absolutely necessary, but he was steady. He was a good head taller than half the room, and easy to spot because of it and blond hair the color of straw shining out like a beacon, day or night.

“Thanks, Bull,” she said, using his nickname instead of calling him ‘sir’ now that they were the same rank. She got a reassuring smile from the large man that only made her like him all the more. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Well, it should mean more coming from me!” said Luz, loudly interrupting. “I knew you could do it!”

Eve laughed away that blatant lie and went back to enjoying her celebration.

They wouldn’t leave her alone until she’d had one beer. She downed it in an impressive chug, just to prove she could and went about networking. She didn’t accept any more beers.

She had long ago learned the folly of allowing her faculties to be impaired while she was in a questionable situation, and while she trusted these men a lot more than she had, she still didn’t think it worth chancing.

Therefore, Eve ducked out sooner than most and left the men too it despite the party being intended for her. It was sweet that they’d taken it upon them to celebrate her success, but it was past her bed time, and they had a five-mile run at 0600 tomorrow.

She waved at the men as she left.

Realizing the time, she elected to sleep in one of the vacant bunks in the barracks to avoid waking her host family at the late hour.

She might as well have stayed out, as she got woken up by the drunken fumbling of the men coming in throughout the night. Each time someone came in, the drunken revelry started up again.

She kept her eyes closed and let them fumble. She'd get them back for the lost sleep by being extra chipper in the morning, just to irritate their hangovers.

But she might smother Luz if he started singing again.

-

Colonel Sink promoted Lieutenant Meehan from Baker Company to take over Easy. Meehan had never had to deal with Sergeant Buchanan personally, but he was more than happy to give her a shot to see how she’d do.

He found her at the mess hall and slid into the seat across from her, much like Winters had when she’d joined his Platoon.

“This seat taken?”

Eve jumped, startled from where she’d had a field manual propped open in front of her. “Lieutenant,” she said, wondering if she should salute him while she was sitting. “No, of course not,” she said as he raised an eyebrow, smiling patiently while she caught up with what he’d asked her.

Meehan was a man with a strong jaw and a friendly smile. He settled himself easily for an officer sitting in the main mess hall and started eating without pomp, as though he were anyone else.

Eve decided then that she liked the man. He seemed very unassuming, stern perhaps, but overall friendly.

But that didn’t explain what he was doing here.

She waited for him to finish eating a good portion of his meal, trying to keep her straying attention on learning the field manual in front of her. He’d spent most of the time studying her covertly, but she was used to being a curiosity and took no offense.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she asked, setting aside her manual when she figured he’d eaten about half of his meal.

“I just wanted to touch base with you. Make sure you had everything you needed.”

“That’s very kind, sir,” she said. “But to be honest, I would prefer if you treated me as you would any of the men under your command.”

“I can do that,” he said agreeably. “I also just wanted you to know that I will be willing to listen to your side of whatever story crosses my desk.”

Eve met his eyes and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said. “I’ll do my best to see that it never happens.”

“Good,” he said with an easy smile.

At least that was one hill she wouldn’t have to climb. Meehan being open minded about her was a great relief, and probably the best case scenario possible. She liked him even more when he proceeded to ask her about the field manual she was studying.

Not a bad way to spend the afternoon.

-

On May 31, Easy Company moved to a staging ground in Upottery, England.

Where they’d had nice warm stables and houses in Aldbourne, they were now staying in giant green tents on the airfield. It was cold and miserable.

Despite the weather, Eve actually enjoyed being back amongst the men. They were rambunctious and rowdy but she hadn’t realized how much she’d actually missed them while staying with Margret and Henry.

They also had a brand new lieutenant, a fellow called Buck Compton. Buck had some of the brightest blue eyes Eve had ever seen under blond hair so pale it seemed white. He was almost as tall as Bull Randleman, but was much more amiable. He’d gained a reputation as a gambling man, but seemed friendly enough when Eve met him. He hadn’t even mentioned her gender before he’d proceeded to swindle her at darts. She later suckered him into poker. It was the start of an interesting friendship.

It was in Upottery that they found out what the mission they’d been preparing endlessly for was going to be. They ran through practice jumps, putting the pilots through their paces so they would be able to gage the distance to their targeted drop zones more easily and give them a feel for what the plane was supposed to feel like – how fast it should be going, at what altitude – for the men in the back to parachute out. Eve greatly enjoyed being in the planes again despite the sudden morbid tone that took over the camp. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time before the Big One.

When it came, Eve was fortunate enough to learn about the particulars of the operation directly from Nixon with the other NCOs. Operation Overlord, Hour of Hours, Day of Days; someone was either being clever, or was absolutely terrible at creating original names.

Eve wasn’t privy to knowing the specifics behind those names yet, and probably wouldn’t find out until they were boarding the planes for the attack.

She did know they were dropping at night, approximately five hours before the 4th Infantry landed at Utah and the invasion started. Their objective was to take a German garrison at St Marie-du-Mont spotted by Allied reconnaissance. After securing the garrison to halt its inevitable bombardment of the beach, Easy was going to take the town of Carentan to link the Omaha and Utah beachheads together so that supplies could run inland.

It sounded complicated.

Eve got to hear the speech twice, because she listened to Meehan present it to the rest of the men a few hours later. She studied the maps and sand tables until she was sure it was painted on the inside of her eyelids and then helped her squad do the same. It was so exciting doing this for real rather than trying to sketch out battles on pieces of paper from history books.

It was something her father had encouraged her to do when she’d studied history. Seeing the battle laid out on paper was far easier than trying to decipher it from text most of the time.

She worried how well the men would follow her in a combat situation. They seemed pretty receptive to her leadership at the moment – despite her not really having to do much – but it was something she was infinitely grateful for. She couldn’t imagine the kind of havoc that would occur if her squad was constantly trying to mutiny out from under her and undermine her leadership now at base, let alone while they were in combat. She was fortunate enough to have Liebgott in her squad. He helped keep the guys in line and was pretty good at convincing them to “give her a chance for fuck’s sake.”

On the other hand, she hadn’t forgotten his threat to accidentally drop a grenade should someone prove too much of a liability in the field. To do everything in her power to prevent that, she studied the maps frantically, creating contingency plans with Lip, who was a great source of advice for how to run her squad effectively. They talked sometimes for hours about various ways they would approach a scenario in the field. She found him quick-witted and that he genuinely seemed to care for all of the men under his command. She decided that if she could choose a leadership style, she wanted it to be a combination of Lipton’s and Winters’s.

She could only pray that she would do well enough to earn the respect of her men. That she would prove once and for all that she could handle herself in combat just as well as any of the men.

-

Eve was going over her equipment. Apparently the Army didn’t know what exactly a paratrooper would need in the field so they decided to give them everything they could think of.

Joe Toye was next to her, bitching as he circled the gear he’d laid out on the ground about how much his shit weighed. Eve watched with a grim smile and kept packing. She weighed half as much as the skinny man and had to carry the same load.

They used tarps to keep the gear from getting wet on the soaked pavement, and to keep their gear separate from everyone else’s gear. She packed and repacked her stuff, making sure that what she needed vitally was as close to her body as it could get. Problem was, she could think of vital situations for each and every piece of equipment, and her body just wasn't that big.

She kept at squaring her gear while Vest – a dark haired, lithe man who was in charge of the Company’s mail – stalked up and down the assembly area shouting various names for mail call. “Sergeant Buchanan!” he shouted.

“Evelyn A.?” she replied as he circled back around.

“Here you go,” he said. She got two letters from him but tucked them away until later when she found privacy. Right now, she was sitting with Toye, Luz, and Perconte, who were nosy bastards.

“Love letter, Buchanan?” teased Luz. She rolled her eyes and they piped down as she tucked the envelopes away.

She could hear Liebgott commenting on Talbert's Colt .45 fifty-feet in front of her. It was impressive, but she tuned out after ten minutes of the same theme repeated _ad nauseam_.

Sergeant Martin caught her attention as he walked by, speaking to Lip in confidence. She didn't bother trying to eavesdrop. If she needed to know, someone would tell her. At this phase, knowing something ahead of time often created more headaches than it fixed.

Next to her, Luz and Malarkey started shoving their supplies into the new leg bags that the Brits had given them. Everything they could possibly fit in there, they did, including rations and their weapons. Eve cautioned the guys in her squad against putting all your eggs in one basket – or all their supplies in one bag – but was happily ignored.

“Calm down, Ev,” said Malarkey. “This way, I can sit down comfortably instead of crushing half my gear on the plane.”

Eve shook her head, but offered no further protest. She’d rather save her breath than be ignored again.

Guarnere wandered over, a metal plate filled with vanilla ice cream in hand. He smiled at her, Popeye and Luz as he sat down, arranging his gear so he was leaning against his bulging leg bag to eat it.

They’d been fed well the night before. Eve felt like a calf being fattened up before it was led to the slaughter. She was wise enough not to mention it, even though it put her off eating.

As Eve began strapping on all her gear she started wondering how in the hell she was expected to stand up much less fight with all of it on. She’d have a hell of a time walking around on the ground with this much stuff weighing her down. She put it on anyway, regretting fiercely that she could foresee a situation where each bit of gear was necessary.

At least she wasn’t Luz, who had to carry one of the company radios, or Malarkey, who had a mortar and all the trappings that came with it to worry about as well as her gear.

Vest went back around, this time handing out clean white papers from Colonel Sink. Eve scanned hers while Luz began his impression of the Colonel. “Tonight, is the night of nights,” he drawled.

She was done reading before he was and threw her head back to look at the sky and the clouds, and then at the men around her, knowing that she may never see any of them again.

“That’s why they gave us ice-cream,” Guarnere grumbled, dejected that the ice-cream wasn’t some spontaneous gesture of good will from on high.

Who was he honestly trying to kid?

They grimly got suited up. Eve got Lipton to help cinch her into her webbing. She didn’t offer to help anyone else, knowing that none of the men were quite comfortable enough with her yet to allow her hands anywhere near their nuts. Eve didn’t mind at all. She didn’t want there to be any funny ideas about favorites or sweethearts with the cinch straps for the webbing tucked between their legs.

They were as ready as they could be. Liebgott offered to do haircuts for fifty cents, having been a barber in San Francisco before the war. It was apparently some kind of fad with a particular unit to have their heads shaved into mohawks. Lieb teasingly offered to do Eve’s as well. She punched his shoulder and got back to smearing oil paint on her face to blacken it.

They were just assembling to get their plane assignments when Lieutenant Meehan got up on a jeep and started hollering. “Easy Company! Listen up!”

Eve moved with the mob of men at a waddle to encircle their elevated commander.

“The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight! The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24 hour stand down.”

Eve bit her lip on the groan that desperately wanted to escape. Others were not so subtle.

Guarnere muttered, “Son of a bitch,” as he turned to find someone to help him out of the very uncomfortable webbing.

Eve sighed and got to working on the same. Their date with destiny had just been delayed.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happen on Thursdays. See you then.


	10. Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company prepares for a drop that doesn't happen.
> 
> Hitler made only one big mistake when he built his Atlantic Wall", the paratroopers liked to say. "He forgot to put a roof on it". — Band of Brothers, Stephen Ambrose
> 
> Now: Eve lands in Normandy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's for this chapter: FandomlyCroft and Laura001

-Chapter 10-

Nerves ate Eve like ants running underneath her skin and making her want to get up and move. They’d been training to jump for so long, hashing and rehashing the plan over and over. She just wanted to jump and have done with it. Everything was hanging on this – this defining moment. Either she could handle being a soldier, or she couldn’t – and she was desperate to find out which it was. She just wanted get it over with and know already.

There was an odd mood in camp. The delay caused an immediate relief and elation, and with that came ample celebration as each soldier realized he was living on borrowed time now. The army had the camp locked down. No one was allowed to leave lest he blab the whole plan to some civilian and ruin the whole thing. It wasn’t long before their briefly absent nerves came back with a vengeance and a strange calm stole the previous life from the camp.

The Morale Officers put on a film for the anxious soldiers, but Eve had never been a big Dietrich fan. Instead, she used the time to find a bit of privacy to read her letters.

_My Dearest Daughter,_

_My how time has flown since your last letter. While I appreciate you including that picture of your unit, darling, I was shocked at what they’ve done to your poor hair. I’m certain Cynthia, my hairdresser, can make something out of that mess, but you’ve also lost what little figure you had. Finding you a husband will be nigh impossible now._

_Not to fret, though, I shall do my best to make sure you’re well looked after._

_Eliza turned down yet another proposal. I swear that child doesn’t understand how slim the pickings are, especially with this silly war pulling most of the eligible bachelors off to die horrific deaths._

_Surely, now that you’ve had a chance to experience this horror yourself, you can have no objections to coming home on the next ship from England._

_You’ve had your fun, and have no doubt understood why your father and I were so reluctant to send you in the first place. War is no place for women._

_Please, dear, before it’s too late. Come home. Your godfather can have you home in no time._

_All my love,_

_Your mother_

Eve bit her lip and swallowed hard. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All the letters she’d received from her mother were of a similar tone. It was why she didn’t write more often. She had known when she left that her mother didn’t approve of her choice to join the army. It had been more than plain.

But her mother’s lack of faith in her left Eve with even less faith in herself.

With a shake of her head, she tucked the letter into her breast pocket. She needed some time to think about what she wanted to write back, or if she should even bother trying to find the right words before the drop.

She needed to sleep on it, if she was being honest, but that was an unlikely prospect. Still, she should at least go lie down in her rack and pretend while she still could. Heaven knows she wasn’t going to get any sleep tomorrow.

She crept from her private corner of camp, ridiculously reluctant to expose the spot.

As luck would have it, she nearly smacked into someone.

It was Bill Guarnere. The usually cocky Italian looked pale and shaken as he steadied her.

“Guarnere?” She queried, worried as she righted herself.

She could tell the instant he recognized her. The snarl initially on his face melted into surprise and then disappeared behind a brittle mask.

“Are you all right?” she asked tentatively, not wanting to set the man off.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly, tucking a piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she told him, surreptitiously giving him a once over for injuries. _It must be the letter,_ she realized. “You get any mail?”

“What?” he said, startled, and then remembered the paper he’d been holding. “Uh, yeah.”

Despite wanting to, Eve didn’t pry. If his letter was anything like hers, she understood the need for privacy. “That’s good. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You got any brothers, Buchanan?” Guarnere asked as she was about to leave him alone.

“Yes,” she said, surprised. “One. He’s in the Navy. Last I heard, his ship was in Africa. Alex thinks they’re going to be pulled for the Pacific soon.

“Older?” Guarnere guessed.

“Not by too much, but yes, and I have an older sister too.”

“I’m the baby in my family too. My ma had ten kids,” he admitted, surprising her again. “Six brothers and three sisters.” He laughed at the expression on her face, a short sharp sound. If it looked half as dumbfounded as she felt then he had a right to laugh at her.

“Henry’s only a bit older than me, but he’s my best friend in the whole world. Practically raised me, see? We used to run together around our neighborhood, thick as thieves. In Philly everybody looks after everybody, you see?”

There was a strange peace in the air as Eve sat and listened to Guarnere talk about his family and his brother Henry long into the night. It was interesting. Her childhood had been entirely different. She’d suffered through soirées she couldn’t play at and unsympathetic nanny’s, where he stole apples for food and played craps in the street.

When he caught her yawning twice in ten minutes Guarnere glanced at his watch and finally realized how late it was. “Let’s get to bed before we oversleep and miss the whole thing!” he teased.

Eve grinned at him and got up gratefully. The night had gotten rather chilly. Guarnere hadn’t seemed to notice the temperature drop, but Eve had donned her jump gloves some time ago. They wandered back to the barracks, the silence a comfortable blanket between them.

“Hey, Buchanan,” said Guarnere right before they entered the green tent that housed second platoon. She gave him her full attention. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime, Guarnere,” she said going in.

“And for Christ’s sakes, call me Bill!” he demanded as he ducked in behind her.

Eve nodded, determined to remember despite her lagging mind and slipped inside to find her bed. She was asleep before she even hit the pillow, probably imagining Bill pulling her blanket over her shoulders.

-

The next evening, June 5, 1944, officially D-Day minus one, was H-Hour for Easy Company. The morning, and most of the day was spent strapping everything they could possibly manage to themselves before they got on the planes for Normandy and the biggest fight in history. Eve felt like a grain of sand at the beach, facing the inevitability of drowning in the tide amongst all the other helpless grains.

The men around Eve helped each other cinch into their webbing again, the mood somber. Eve was drastically less enthusiastic about the drop after having a long night to think on its potential consequences. Lipton helped pull her straps tight again, and Eve spent the hours before takeoff helping the stragglers pack away last minute shit that was being distributed to fill the idiotic 80lbs leg bags, watching men shave their heads and paint their faces for war.

Plane assignments were handed out. Eve was assigned to 67, joining Lieutenant Winters, Roe, Sergeant Toye, Sergeant Guarnere, Sergeant Grant, Sergeant Talbert, Private Blithe, Corporal Malarkey, Private Muck, Private Penkala, and a few other guys she couldn’t recognize underneath the black war paint.

Lieutenant Meehan stopped by. Eve and the other guys were sprawled on their backs under the weight. It was the only way to be at all comfortable. She was in the back of the left line, which meant that she’d be one of the first people off the plane.

"Gentlemen, Doc Roe is handing these out for airsickness. Orders are every man takes one now, another thirty minutes in the air,” said Meehan as Roe passed out the pills.

She took her pill packet from Roe and watched him collapse into what was an awkward seat before giving up and laying out like the rest of them, legs in front of him, in his spot in the line opposite her. He’d be getting off the plane either right before, or right after, she did.

Meehan took the time to shake Winters's hand, before he left to board his own plane.

"Second Platoon, listen up," began Winters, looking them over. "Good luck. God bless you. I'll see you in the assembly area." There was nothing further that needed saying. He gave a firm nod and moved down the rows, tugging them up one by one and shaking or clasping each man’s hands as he went. When it was Roe’s turn, Eve realized that Winters stared into each man’s eyes, trying to memorize him.

A new fear gripped her. Eve prayed she’d at least make it to the ground and have a fighting chance.

When it was her turn to be pulled to her feet, Eve shook Winters’s hand with reverence. She had no doubt that she would remember this man until she died. He was the first person to ever accept her as a soldier first and a woman second, and for that, he had a special place in her heart.

She joined the line of men shoving each other into the plane. They were too heavy, too encumbered by all the extra stuff strapped to their torsos and legs to see the thin metal steps they needed to mount to board the plane, let alone climb them. After Roe and Winters pulled and shoved – respectively – Eve in, she helped the Doc tow their Lieutenant into the plane, returning his grateful smile with her own.

It took forever for the plane to get into the air. They had to wait hours in line to taxi and take off and then joined up into formation before they even managed to get underway. Eve watched the sunset from the open door, hoping that it wouldn’t be the last one she ever saw.

Eve had never felt so miserable on a plane. She blamed it on the airsickness pills making her loopy and nauseous. Winters glanced up from his position scanning the sea below to see her eyeing the door curiously. He waved her over to come see what had captured his attention. He pointed down. Eve had no fears about being so high up in the air, and did the thing all jump masters warned them not to do: looked down.

It was the most amazing sight Eve had ever seen. She looked out, and witnessed the invasion force blazing across the glassy English Channel for France. It was almost like the ships were moving through the sky, the rippling water studded with reflections of the stars.

She tried to wave Gene over so he could see it too, but he shook his head. She gave him a ‘suit-yourself’ shrug and went back to watching the invasion of Europe with Winters. For some reason she couldn’t explain, staring at the moving ships on the water below settled her stomach.

She glanced at Winters and then back into the dark recesses of the plane. If she was going to do this, she was glad she'd done it with these men. She'd follow Winters anywhere he led.

It was an awe inspiring thing to see the sheer might and power of the Allies, rolled out in impressive formation. She felt both great, and small, as the ships cut towards a horizon Eve couldn’t delineate from the sky above in the darkness.

Eve felt cradled in God’s palm as they hovered like avenging angels – Valkyrie – above the warriors on their way to the pivotal battle of their time.

The same anxiety that had been haunting Eve since she joined the army threatened to consume her once more; the fear of failure.

Eve burped to relieve a slight pressure pushing at her throat, and instead vomited her dinner – and the airsickness pills – out into the ocean below them. A hysterical though struck, and Eve prayed she hadn't killed anyone with her vomit – which she kept it to herself.

 _So much for a settled stomach,_ she thought as she tried to ignore Winters laughing at her as they flew onward towards France.

Not wanting to embarrass herself further, Eve accepted Winters’s pat on the back, and went back to her seat, trying to will the taste of bile out of her mouth, because she didn’t dare touch her canteen.

Despite the need for sleep, the entire plane was awake and on pins and needles. Eve couldn’t even imagine sleeping at this point, she was so tense. The roar of the engines seemed louder than ever, making it difficult to even hear herself think. She looked at the men in her plane. Guarnere fingered a rosary. Malarkey kept shifting around, looking at Toye and decidedly away from the machine gun across his lap. Toye, next to him, was gnawing on a thumbnail. Skip Muck had somehow dug out his cigarettes, but no lighter.

Eve moved away from Penkala, who was sitting next to her, as he squirmed trying to double check that his parachute was actually attached to his back. She pulled her legs from where they were sprawled in front of her so that Muck could come holler at Smith for a light.

She caught Winters’s eye as he too scanned the plane. He gave her, or perhaps Penkala next to her, a smile and a reassuring nod.

 _Right,_ she thought, _I’ve been trained for this. This is just like any other jump._ Eve tried to ignore the terrible feeling in the pit of her belly that things were going to go horribly wrong, and decided to follow Roe’s example across from her as he recited prayers over and over again to himself. She might have caught her name in a few of them, but he was definitely in hers.

It was the most anxious Eve had ever been. Everyone was tense. Some fiddled with cigarettes, some smoked, some even fiddled with the brass clickers they’d been given. The little things were supposed to sound like crickets, and when she’d tried hers out of curiosity, it did indeed sound like one of the ridiculously annoying bugs. Their purpose was simple: if Eve came across a moving target, she was to challenge them with a click of the cricket, and if she didn’t receive two in return, then she needed to open fire and kill the German target. It was rather clever. Of course, if they lost their cricket then there were pass phrases to use instead. Eve liked the cricket a lot better because it made a hell of a lot more sense to sound like nature when hiding from a potential target than to announce yourself by hissing “Flash” and responding with “Thunder”.

Eve closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down, or at least _appear_ calm should someone, like the ever-keen eyed Lieutenant Winters, notice her anxiety, only to snap them back open at the first bang. It sounded a long way off at first, barely heard under the constant roar of the engines. Slowly the booming roar of cannons got louder.

The red light flipped on next to Winters’s head. Eve’s breath caught. _Here we go._ She fastened her helmet and found her hook, watching the man stand up.

The jumpmaster hooked Winters to the line as he held a palm out to them. She could just hear him shout, “Get ready!” over the waves of sound that crashed into her ears. She presented him with her hook. “Stand up!” he said. She pushed herself off the seat and stood, slotting into line.

The call “Hook up!” came. Eve slid her hook onto the center cable and checked that it was properly latched. She didn’t want an undeployed parachute.

She automatically checked Roe’s equipment. She paid more attention to the gear in front of her than she ever had before, the bright red light casting a sinister glow on the gear. She tucked in straps that had gotten loose. From what she could see, though, Roe had done an immaculate job packing. She hoped the little tugs she felt on her own bag meant that she’d done just as well.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!" Winters hollered.

Eve was deaf until a hand slapped her shoulder a couple of times, "Four okay!"

"Three okay!" she hit Roe's arm. He sounded, "Two okay!"

An explosion shook the plane. Eve thought they were going to drop right out of the sky. The guy behind her hauled her up from where she’d staggered to the side. She rebraced her feet and tried to anticipate the next jolt. White light flared right outside the door as she saw Winters stumble to it. Eve sent off prayers again as she waited for the light to turn green, desperate to get out of this flying death trap.

They’d been flying through clouds for a while now, and the artillery exploding illuminated the air with great bursts of white. The sky roared with the boom of explosions, hot air tossing the plane about. She gripped the straps of her webbing, trying not to panic. Outside the still open door, she could see the arching path of tracer bullets zipping through the air, the bright flashes of antiaircraft guns, trying their damnedest to bring them down.

She could see lights way in the distance. That surely must be the drop zone. It seemed so far away. The tail half of a C-47 fell from the sky just outside the door. _We aren’t even going to live to see the ground at this rate,_ she thought. _Please God, just let me get to the ground. Don’t let me die without a fight._

Men in the back of the plane started shouting, desperate to just go already. The plane veered sharply, sending Roe sideways in an effort to stay on his feet.

“Son of a bitch!” Eve said as she grabbed him and tried to haul him back upright so he could find his balance again. He gave her a forced smile when he finally was upright again.

Muck, who was staring out the window he’d fallen into, shouted above the roar, “We get any lower, we ain’t gonna need no freaking parachutes!” A bullet bounced off the side of the window he was looking out and flung himself back across the aisle.

The plane started shaking even harder. Eve tried to keep breathing.

The light switched to green.

“Let’s go!” cried Winters, flinging himself out the gaping door. Less than a second later, Roe disappeared into the flashing black. Eve scrambled to follow, not wasting time at the door before she hurtled herself from the plane.

The blast from the propellers snapped her chinstrap from her helmet, yanking her jaw about. She only managed the ready position because of the nearly continuous drilling she’d undergone. Her shoulders were yanked backwards in a completely separate direction from the immense forward momentum of the plane.

Opposing forces wrenched Eve’s body, threatening to snap her in two. Her parachute, deployed too fast, seized her ribs and refused to let them go despite the extra weight demanding she land. The pilot must have been going way too fast when he’d sent them from the plane. She let off every curse she knew and made a few up to boot as she tried to get her bearings and squash her terror. In the brief seconds she had, she’d planned on using her risers to avoid landing in some tree, but she’d only just gotten her hands wrapped around them when she hit hard packed dirt, less than eight seconds after stepping from the still racing plane.

And she hit it hard.

One of her legs had been slightly further extended than the other, so the jar to her left ankle was immediately painful. She rolled into the flip she’d practiced over and over again and tried to shrug out of her webbing before her chute became her shroud.

Free, she looked around and breathed.

She'd made the jump.

_Thank God._

Relief left her as her training kicked in. She scanned her surroundings. Somehow, she’d managed to land in a field rather than the forest immediately to her right.

Taking stock of what she had, she decided to abandon her chute, her reserve chute, and her life preserver. They would only slow her down in combat. Like she’d feared, the chinstrap on her helmet lining had snapped, but the damned thing had somehow managed to stay on her head.

She checked to see if she had managed to keep any of her other gear after that prop blast. After a quick check, patting down her body for the various bags and straps she’d tried to keep track of, she realized she had managed to keep about half of what she jumped with.

Bullets zipped and pinged overhead. Enemy machine guns opened up, their distinctive brrrrrrrrrt! pushed her into the dirt for a moment as she got her bearings and prepared herself to make a break for the tree line.

She pulled her gun from where she'd lashed it across her back, under the parachute so it make it to the ground with her if she’d made it at all, and thanked God that she’d had the foresight to preload it. There had been a risk that it would go off and shoot her as she jumped or during the flight, or when she’d landed so hard, but that was a chance she'd taken and now she'd hit the ground ready to fight, just like she'd hoped she would.

Plus, she was almost certain that most of the spare ammo she’d stocked up on before the jump was with the half of her stuff that had abandoned her in the jump.

She looked up. Little balloons carrying her fellows littered the sky. She sent up a prayer that they'd all make it alive.

Eve took a better look around, trying to get her bearings. _Fuck,_ she thought. _I don’t recognize anything._

She decided to head for the trees. Better to have some cover rather than be a sitting duck in the middle of an open field. She just hoped they weren’t infested with German Infantry, but that was a problem she’d address when she wasn’t a sitting duck.

Remembering, she dug into the pouch she’d put her clacker in, but found the delicate brass had been crushed by her weight. She cursed under her breath. She was stuck with revealing herself to potential enemies by voice. Great.

The machine gun went silent for a moment and Eve took her chance. She shoved herself to her feet, boots slipping in the wet grass as she raced for the tree line before the German’s could reload. She closed the yards between her and her target quickly, thankfully without bullets tracing her steps, and dove for the wall of dark green.

 _Click-clack_ she heard to her left. She sank into a crouch, and hissed, “Thunder!” praying that it wasn’t some jumped up Private ready to shoot her.

“Ev?” came the very welcome voice of Joe Toye, “That you?”

“Toye,” she greeted, giving a huge sigh of relief.

“Good to see you made it,” said Bill Guarnere, emerging from behind Toye.

She smiled. At least she wasn’t going to be fighting alone. If there was anyone she wanted to be behind enemy lines with, it was these two. “Either of you fellas got any idea where we are?”

“Not a goddamn clue,” griped Guarnere.

“Not the DZ,” said Toye.

“Yeah, I figured,” she said. After that jump, she could pretty much guarantee they were way off from their intended drop zone. “Wanna start heading that way?” she suggested, selecting a route that would take them deeper into the forest.

“Might as well,” agreed Toye. “You got point?” he asked, Eve nodded and stepped forward.

Eve led them into the dark, watching the forest and listening hard. She heard a crunch and held up her hand, falling into a crouch. It was a testament to how much they trusted her judgment that the men behind her sank immediately and without hesitation. Eve didn’t even notice, intently listening to someone fumbling around in the woods. She turned back and met Guarnere and Toye’s eyes signaling where the noise was coming from.

Guarnere nodded and crept into the brush, pulling out a trench knife from its sheath in his boot as he went, no need to alert the other enemy of their position with a gunshot after all. Eve and Toye followed him, guns ready to cover him.

There was a figure just ahead, struggling against something in the field just beyond the hedgerows that lined the forest. Eve set herself up against a tree and leveled her gun.

Tension lining his body, Guarnere counted down on his fingers from three, and when he hit his fist, he leapt through the hedgerows, knife drawn and pinned the still struggling man to the forest floor, straddling his waist.

“Whose side are you on!” Guarnere growled, knife at the downed man’s throat.

“It’s me!” cried the man, ceasing his struggles at the feel of the blade. “For Christ’s sake it’s me, Gonorrhea!”

“Malark?”

“Yeah.”

“You crazy Mick, what’re you still doing in your harness making all that racket?”

“What the hell are you doin’ jumpin’ outta nowhere and scarin’ the life outta me like that, you crazy bastard!”

“Shh,” said Eve. “You nuts? Wanna give our position away to the enemy or what?”

“Help me get outta this,” said Malark.

Guarnere sawed through the straps easily with the razor sharp blade still in his hand.

Once Malark was dusted off and checked over for gear, of which he had little since he’d stuffed most of it into that British leg bag, which had gotten yanked free in the prop blast, he gave Eve an enthusiastic hug round the shoulders when he recognized her with Toye and Guarnere. She blinked in surprise and patted the arm around her throat, encouraging him to let her go. It was making her uncomfortable.

“Let’s keep moving,” said Toye, reminding them that while the reunion was all well and good, they were still on a time schedule.

“Hey, Gonorrhea, next time, think you should use those code words?” teased Malarkey.

“Shut up,” grumbled Bill, a little embarrassed about it all now. “It worked didn’t it?”

There were no more encounters as exciting as that one, but they did manage to find Popeye, and a railroad. The railroad was a relief. Eve remembered seeing one that lead near-abouts to their objective, and knew that eventually they’d hit a sign that would tell them whether or not they were heading the right way. The compass Popeye produced said they were going west, which seemed to be the best bet since they’d either hit their objective or the beach.

“I don’t remember hearing about any railroads near our objective,” said Malarkey.

Eve ignored him. She knew what she was doing.

Toye glared at the man. “This is the Spur line that runs parallel to the river. Ev’s got it right. We should be coming up to a road and bridge ahead.”

“Yeah, how would you know?” asked Malark, not quite willing to admit that he didn’t remember much of the map.

“Because I studied the sand tables, all right?” Toye scolded.

Eve paused, hearing a crack in the woods. Her hand flew up to get the other men into a crouch. Malark came up to hiss in her ear. “Probably a freaking train or-“

“Flash!” came a voice from behind.

Eve and the men whirled to face the voices, “Thunder,” popping out of her mouth on impulse. Malark whirled away from her, gun pointed at the men emerging from the bushes behind them. She hadn’t even heard them approach. If that had been Germans, they’d all be dead by now.

“Lieutenant? That you?” asked Malark.

“Malarkey,” said Winters, stepping into the moonlight.

“Sir,” said Malark. Eve and the other boys echoed him.

Eve was grateful to have found Winters – and Lipton too when he stepped out of the shadows to clasp her on the shoulder. Finally, someone who could keep the boys in order.

“Hey fellas,” greeted Guarnere. “Everybody a-okay?”

“Let’s keep moving,” said Winters, scanning the men he had with him now. “Guarnere, you and Hall upfront.”

“Who the hell is Hall?” asked Bill, confusion sounding a lot like anger in the darkness.

Winters walked to the back of the pack and clapped Eve on the shoulder. A lot of people seemed to be doing that tonight.

“How was your jump?” he asked.

“Short,” she said. “Yours?”

“It was fine,” he replied and they fell into step at the rear. “Got a spare weapon?” he asked, realizing at a glance that Eve probably had more of the gear she’d jumped with than any of the other men. What that said about women and packing, he didn’t really want to think about, but he was glad that of anybody, she was the most prepared she could be. He still worried about her because she was a woman, he’d probably never really stop, but he was damn glad that she was with them right now. They needed all the bodies they could get.

“Trench knife?” she offered.

“I have one,” he said.

“’Fraid I don’t, then, sir,” she said. He nodded. It was worth a shot.

With Winters along, the idle chatter died off. Noise discipline was in full effect as they made their way along the railroad. Eve decided that walking on the metal rails rather than the loose gravel over the wooden ties was a better idea, but none of the other boys bothered.

Apparently, Winters and Lip had some boys from the 82nd with them and a kid from Abel Company named Hall. Winters, when prompted, said that they were 7 kilometers from their assembly area.

They'd have to move quickly to make it in time, Eve knew. _Thank God for Sobel’s crazy night marches,_ she thought.

She never thought she would be thanking Sobel for anything, but after hundreds of relentless hikes through the woods and trees at night in Georgia under his command, Eve could see damn near as well at night as she could in the cold light of day. This march, along nice, clean metal rail, was nothing at all compared to the fumbling she’d endured through the backwoods in the American South.

Hall led their patrol with Guarnere for a good half a mile before he held them up at the road and bridge Toye had remembered earlier. A horse whinnied, a cart clattered.

Company.

Winters moved up to scout, leaving the men crouched and waiting for orders. It only took a few moments for the man to make it back to them, signaling the enemy was approaching.

“Lipton!” he hissed, gesturing where he wanted the Sergeant to set up. “Go!”

He set Guarnere up on the other side of the tunnel. Eve followed Lipton down the incline from the top of the railroad, positioning herself so she could see into the tunnel.

She settled into a firing position, listening to the same horses neigh and unconcerned German voices as a cart rolled down the road towards ambush.

“Wait for my command,” said Winters, pitching his voice so that the soft tone reached everyone’s ears without alerting the enemy.

Eve saw his hand go up and readied herself to pull the trigger on real people for the first time in her life.

She bit her lip as she saw the first cart roll under the bridge. She waited for them to pass so she could hit the men behind it, waiting for Winters’s hand to drop.

Guarnere popped up from his position, letting loose a long, continuous, line of bullets, ahead of the command.

Eve’s eyes snapped to his enraged face before she pulled the trigger, killing the German in her sights as he scrambled for a weapon. _Fuck. So much for an ambush!_ she thought as she raced to pick off the Germans at the back before they could slip away and alert the Krauts of their position.

It was a mess. No coordination at all. Someone threw a grenade that hit one of the bridge walls, shattering the brick into a million pieces searing hotly into one of the poor horse’s face. It died with a scream.

Eve tried to find a shot in all the smoke and panic, but there was little she could do but fire blindly into the void and hope she hit something.

 _“Bitte nicht schieβen!”_ cried the cart driver standing. Eve shot him in the chest. He fell backwards.

Guarnere had moved into the tunnel to get a better shot at the scrambling Germans. Eve worried for a moment about hitting him, but rather thought he’d deserve it if she did for doing something so stupid. _Why the hell did he leave cover?_

The remaining horse was screaming. The sound cut her through to the bone.

The Germans tried to rally an assault, but the Americans gunned them down before the poor bastards even made it out of the tunnel.

Eve stopped firing, realizing the battle, the slaughter, was over. She stared at Guarnere as he shot a last fleeing German in the back with a well-placed burst of fire.

“That’s enough, Guarnere!” snapped Winters, pushing the man in the back to get him to stop firing. Guarnere whirled to face the Lieutenant, defiance in the set of his shoulders. “Everyone okay?” Winters hollered, not taking his eyes from Guarnere’s.

“Yes, sir,” Eve answered along with the rest of the men. She crouched down and helped Lipton search the dead Krauts, hoping to find weapons for him and Lt. Winters, while fishing for grenades and any intelligence the officers might have had. She left the wallets and obvious trinkets alone. Spoils of war were one thing, stealing from the dead was entirely another.

“Next time I say, ‘wait for my command’, you wait for my command, Sergeant,” snapped Winters, glaring into Guarnere’s eyes to make his severity perfectly clear.

“Yes, sir,” said Guarnere, almost a snarl.

As she looked away, Eve caught Hall watching the scene with ill-disguised awe, and shook her head, choosing to ignore the interloper to keep searching. All-in-all, the Krauts had a whole lot of nothing on them, nothing useful anyway. She did pocket the aid kits she found, stuffing them into a Kraut bag she upended under the bridge with the rest of her pilfered supplies.

The second horse, lying in the mud, but onlyinjured, would not stop screaming. Eve couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up to go put the poor beast out of his misery when a shot went off.

Her eyes found Toye, replacing his pistol into his belt after shooting the poor beast, and putting it out of its misery.

Toye caught her eye. Evelyn gave him a nod of deep respect and rewrapped the dead German she’d been riffling through in his coat.

Lipton moved over to Winters. “Here you go Lieutenant, Kraut weapon,” he said, handing it over.

Eve, done with searching the dead, followed the Sergeant and Winters as they started up the road. She was close enough to overhear Bill’s hissed “Fine, Quaker,” as he passed her.

Hall was still staring after Bill with a bit of awe, and a bit of disgust at his blatant disrespect for Winters. “What’s that guy’s problem?” he asked Malarkey as they fell into step behind Eve.

“Gonorrhea,” replied the Irishman blandly.

Eve smiled. She had no idea how Guarnere had gotten that stupid name, but it had stuck like a burr once he’d got it.

“Really?” asked Hall, surprised, clearly not having heard the name before, Eve laughed. Put that way, it might have answered some questions.

“His name, dummy,” said Malark, spelling it out for the man.

“So besides having a shitty name what’s his problem?”

Eve snorted a laugh, but Guarnere whirled on the man, “None of your fucking business, cowboy!”

 _Yeah,_ she thought, _there’s definitely something wrong with Bill. And it’s not just an eagerness for combat._

She gave the man a worried glance, but he glared at her and shrugged her attention off. Which was fine. It wasn’t really her place to say anything about it either way, she knew.

Thankfully, Lipton told them to move out. “Quietly,” he added, in case the ambush hadn’t made it abundantly clear that they were behind enemy lines.

Eve fell in step with Guarnere. His eyes slid to hers as he acknowledged her, and apologized with a glance for scowling, but kept walking.

Eve didn’t mind the quiet, respecting his obvious desire for privacy by not asking.

-

They marched through the night, trying to reach their assembly area before the invasion began at dawn. But as the sun crept closer to the horizon, and deep-blue turned to green predawn, and green gave way to the first rays of golden sunlight, they knew they’d failed.

To make matters more depressing, it was Eve’s turn at the rear as the small band battled through a swamp, fighting to find her way between reeds taller than she was. At least she wasn’t on point, forging the path, but at the rear, she bore the brunt of the sucking mud and irate insects the boys in front had stirred up.

Eve spent most of her time smacking both real, and imaginary insects from her neck and hands as she trudged through water that was dangerously close to lapping over her boot tops mid-calf.

It was – bar none – the most miserable thing she’d ever experienced, topping even the most hellish days at Camp Toccoa. As the sun got higher, the day got more and more humid, until it was like breathing in soup. The water was getting deeper.

Eve cringed as the sucking muck tried to steal her boots off her feet, her bruised ankle suddenly making a loud protest as she yanked it from the mud. “Damn it,” she hissed and struggled not to fall behind.

The barely present breeze wafted the conversation going on in front of her to her ears.

“Did you see ‘im? He just sat there.”

It was Bill. _He must be talking about Winters._

“He didn’t have a weapon,” defended Toye. “What’s he gonna do, shout at ‘em?”

Guarnere was not to be appeased, still sore that he’d been lectured. “He shouts at me for killing Krauts, pah.” He swatted at a bug attacking his face.

“He just wanted you to wait for his command,” persisted Toye, still trying to be reasonable, and arguing on Winters’s behalf.

“Joe, he don’t even drink!” he said, like it was a coffin nail.

Eve wondered what drinking had to do with anything, but didn’t bother to say so.

Toye, realizing the futility of trying to argue with the pig-headed Italian, shrugged and moved up to join Popeye.

Guarnere caught Eve looking at him. “What, you gonna bitch at me too?”

Eve shook her head, shooting a glare at a bug that was trying to land on her ear. “No.”

That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. “Well good,” he snapped anyway. They walked on in silence until Eve viciously slapped an attacking mosquito from her neck.

“Did you get any?” Bill asked.

It took Eve less than a moment to understand what he meant. He wasn’t talking about mosquitos. “A few.”

“Good girl,” he said and then faced forward.

-

Once they’d gotten through the swamplands, Winters formed the troop into two columns. After two hours in the baking sun, Eve felt half way dry, even if her feet were still sopping in her boots and chafing raw in her wet socks.

It was still, technically, early morning when they found the farm, shelled to rubble and abandoned by all but a few persistent animals wandering freely up and down the road.

Winters and Lipton signaled for them to crouch, fearing German resistance sheltering in the rubble.

A _snap_ cracked through the forest on Eve’s left. She scanned the trees and underbrush for signs of life, gun aimed, and steeling her heart to look into the eyes of the enemy as she killed him.

Her gaze landed on the reckless squirrel, risking life and limb as he went about making a racket. She scanned deeper just in case she’d missed something.

“Lipton, Wynn,” hissed Winters, selecting the two as scouts to check the farm for potential hostiles.

It only took a few, nerve wracking, moments for Lipton to wave them over, giving the all clear.

A foul stench made Eve falter. She’d never smelled anything so terrible.

It didn’t take long for them to find the source.

A paratrooper dangled from a great oak tree. Rigging swaying in the slight wind like a macabre pendulum.

He was from the 101st; she saw the Eagle on his shoulder.

Eve bit her lip, and hardened her heart before studying the man’s face.

She didn’t know him. She wasn’t sure that made her feel better. He was the embodiment of her very worst nightmare. He’d been shot for sport before he’d even had a chance to fight back, before he’d even hit the ground.

Eve swallowed the bile that tried to choke her. It was such a horrible way to die.

Winters relieved him of his weapon.

Another dead American soldier, face down in the dirt, was being looted by Lipton. He looked up and saw the other soldiers watching him, unable to move, or condemn him. Looting German soldiers was part of what they’d trained for, but these were Americans, their brothers.

“Anybody needs supplies or ammo, now’s the time to get it,” said Lipton as he frisked the man for ammunition.

Lipton was right. They were in a warzone, with less than half the supplies they’d dropped with. They didn’t have the luxury of respecting the dead with their need so high.

German’s lay interspersed with the Americans. Eve wandered through the dead, looking for survivors and wondering what happened to this place.

Malark shed his helmet and raced to a dead Kraut. “Hey, I promised my kid brother I’d fetch him back a Luger, so I got first dibs okay!” he announced flipping the dead man over to get at his waist for a gun holster.

“Only Kraut officers carry Lugers, Malark,” said Eve, once again searching for aid kits and ammo. And rations, come to think of it.

Before the stench of blood and death had turned her stomach, Eve had been starving. There’d been no time to stop and eat, and they didn’t have the rations to eat even if there had been time.

“Check that one,” Malarkey directed Hall, ignoring her.

The ground shook as a plane screamed by overhead. Eve hit the deck, landing squarely on the paratrooper she’d been looting. His tacky blood smeared the front of her ODs. She grunted as two more bodies squished down on top of her, pinning her in the mess with arms thrown across her back to keep her down. She gagged as the smell of the rotting man clung to her nose.

“That’s the Navy,” she heard Lipton observe when the sky was calm once more.

“The landings have started, let’s go!” cried Winters

Eve blinked as she was hauled off the dead man, and nearly puked now that she was free. She looked at Guarnere and Toye, who were getting up from smothering her, both surprised at their instinctive response to cover her and perhaps a little offended.

“You all right there, Buchanan?” Toye asked noting the blood with some concern.

“What?” she asked and looked down at the tacky mess. “It’s his,” she said and got to her feet.

“Right on time,” announced Hall, studying his watch.

“Yeah?” said Guarnere, never one to pass up the opportunity to needle someone. “Tell that to him, cowboy.” He pointed at the dead paratrooper he’d been looting with Toye and Eve. The invasion, and the distraction it provided had come too late for these boys.

“My name’s Hall,” said the kid.

“That so?” said Guarnere, not sounding like he gave a rat’s ass.

“Let’s move out,” said Winters adjusting a pilfered Musset bag over his shoulders behind them.

“You just gotta learn to return his fire, is all,” confided Malarkey.

“You just gotta realize it ain’t about you,” said Toye moving past the two.

“He just heard his brother –“

“Malarkey!” interrupted Guarnere. “Shut yer yap.”

Eve looked between the two men. _What is this now?_ She thought Guarnere and Malakey were friends.

“His brother got it at Casino,” said Malarkey, deftly ignoring Guarnere’s wishes after the man had stomped out of hearing. “He found out before we jumped.”

Suddenly the conversation she’d had with Guarnere the night they’d called off the jump made a lot more sense.

She shared a look with Winters. Apparently he hadn’t known about Guarnere’s brother either.

Eve was ashamed that she’d missed the clues, especially now they were so clear in retrospect, but Guarnere had made it plain that he didn’t want to talk about it. She wondered how Malarkey had found out but pushed it from her mind as they moved out.

-

The same storm that had delayed the invasion had churned the roads to mud and kept the sky gray as they marched closer to the coastline.

It was eerie how little resistance there was as they marched openly on the roads. Evidence of fighting littered the countryside; both rubble that must have been abandoned not long after the German’s invasion and still burning wreckage of downed C-47s from last night.

The miles slowly disappeared under their ever marching boots. Eve knew her ankle wasn’t too badly hurt by the sheer fact that she was still walking.

But every step hurt progressively worse. She needed to stop and tighten her boot into a brace, and that required taking precious time – time they didn’t have to spare. So Eve sucked it up and pushed on, knowing each step was making it worse. She’d made her decision not to mention it, and stuck to it.

They pushed forward to the assembly area. It was a little after noon, when they came upon an American guard holding half-a-dozen German prisoners.

“Morning, sir,” the guard greeted Winters, his relief plain. “Battalion sure will be happy ta see you guys.”

“Where?” asked Winters, barely slowing down.

“At the farm, sir,” he said, with a jerk of his gun. Eve kept walking, head down, just happy to finally be in the right place.

“Top ‘o the mornin’ to you fellas!” called Malark in his best Irish accent. “Enjoying the war?” he teased.

Eve couldn’t keep from rolling her eyes. She’d never guessed that Malarkey could be such a chatter box. They were going on twelve hours of non-stop noise from the man.

In light of this, when she noticed Malark lingering to chat up a Kraut, she didn’t bother to wait for him. She’d been up all night, spent half of it walking through a swamp on a bum ankle, and she was starving. Hopefully, Battalion meant there would be warm grub, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

Toye paused, Malarkey hadn’t rejoined the column, and they were leaving him behind. “Hey, Malarkey!” he shouted. “Stop fraternizing with the enemy and get over here!”

Eve kept going; if Malark fell behind, that was his prerogative. She needed to sit the down. Her ankle was throbbing with the anticipation of sitting.

A bump in the road caused her to stumble. Eve bit back a curse as her ankle throbbed anew, and looked down to regain her footing, only to gag. It wasn’t water that had turned the road to mud – it was crimson blood, drained from horses whose carcasses were being used to blockade the road. Eve moved around them as best she could.

The road was crawling with various American soldiers. It was a patchwork army, built up of whatever scraps had managed to make it here. She saw at least six different units at a glance. She even spied some of Leibgott’s infamous Mohawks.

As they moved deeper into the town, Eve was swept up by a strange anxiety. She hadn’t seen any others of Easy Company, but surely they weren’t the only ones left. Easy had some of the best soldiers in the army.

“Whoa-ho, hey! Easy Company!” a man called. Joe Liebgott slid off the embankment on the side of the road and into their path.

A knot she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge loosened at the sight of him and several other Easy Company members sprawled out under a gnarled tree.

Liebgott shook Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye’s hands, before spotting Eve.

“Buchanan! You made it!” Liebgott cried, pulling her into a very unexpected hug. He then pulled her to arm’s length so he could look her over. “You injured?” he asked, noticing the drying blood.

“Not mine,” she explained, used to the question after everyone in their small troop had enquired about it. Apparently her answer satisfied him, and he let her go to greet the others.

“Miss Evelyn! You made it!” cried a voice she recognized. She turned to find Lorraine, Sink’s jeep driver approaching her. When Lorraine said it, he wasn’t talking about the jump like Liebgott had been. “I knew you could do it,” he said, a grin stretching his face as he clapped a heavy hand to her shoulder.

“Lorraine!” someone cried. The man turned away and just like that he was gone, lost in a swirling fray of bodies all trying to figure out what was going on and how they should get to where they were supposed to be, and figure out who was in charge now that everything had gone nuts. Eve lost sight of Lorraine the moment he left her side.

She had other concerns. She spotted Hall, face pale as he stared at her with wide eyes.

Eve grimaced and turned away, knowing that face all too well.

Apparently he hadn't recognized her as the girl yet. She’d been pretty quiet on their trek, and she hadn’t even been able to recognize half her buddies from all the grease they’d smeared on their faces when they’d boarded the planes last night.

Popeye gave her an easy smile of reassurance when he caught her guarded look. He was standing next to Hall and kindly distracted the man. He proceeded to introduce Hall to the assembled Easy Company as “Cowboy”.

“You from Texas?” asked Liebgott, sizing the man up.

“Manhattan,” answered Hall flatly, clearly confused at the nickname himself.

“Oooh,” came the general consensus from the guys. Hall was never getting rid of the nickname, despite its irrelevance to him personally. He’d been appointed Cowboy by Guarnere, and he’d be Cowboy forever, like it or not.

-

Lieutenant Winters left his soldiers to catch up with the newcomers, and went to find command.

Scanning the crowd for familiar faces, a tall man with corn-silk hair stood out above the crowd. Sure enough, it was Lieutenant Compton.

Winters made a beeline for the man, eager to get the full scope of what Easy Company members had assembled so far.

“Winters,” greeted Compton. “Thank God. Good to see you, Dick. Any longer and they’d have put me in charge.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” teased Winters, quietly confident that Buck Compton would make a fine company leader if worse came to worse. “So, what’re we looking at?”

“I landed with six men from my stick, and then Liebgott made it a few hours ago.”

“That makes fourteen,” said Winters

Fourteen paratroopers out of the 144 that had jumped.

“The rest’ll come. They’re probably scattered to kingdom come if my jump is any measure,” Compton reassured the man. “In the meantime, let’s get some chow. You’ve gotta be starving.”

Winters smiled and let Buck lead him to a truck loaded with K-rations.

-

Eve watched as the two lieutenants took a much needed break under the shade of the tree Easy Company had claimed as their base. She was tightening her boot lace now while she had the chance.

“Anybody seen Malark?” Popeye asked, scanning around for the redhead.

“I think he was back there talking to those prisoners on the way into town. Might still be there,” Eve offered.

Popeye nodded and left.

Eve tried not to think about what they were going to do about the captured men. Command had been pretty clear: no prisoners.

She shoved it away. _It isn’t my problem to deal with, thank God,_ she thought, and found something else to occupy her attention.

Her ankle already felt better now that it was properly braced.

Eve idly watched Dog Company’s Lieutenant Speirs take a pack of smokes off Compton and head back up the road, passing Popeye as he returned, still without Malarkey.

A loud crack and a dull roar split the air. Eve flinched recognizing it for a heavy gun, with long distance. If they could hear it, it could hit them. Fuck, she’d never get used to that.

A few minutes later, Malark all but ran back into camp, looking like he'd seen a freaking ghost.

She wondered if he’d seen the bomb go off, if there were any casualties. “You okay, Malarkey?” she asked.

He nodded his head without answering her, odd considering that he’d been physically incapable of being this quiet a few hours ago.

His hands shook as he unscrewed his canteen for a drink.

The Irish man turned gray, eyes taking up half his face they were so wide as they tracked a single man’s progress. Eve followed his line of sight, and saw Speirs, smoking his pilfered cigarettes with an easy swagger. Glancing between the shaken Malarkey, and the man, she nearly asked, but thought better of it.

“Hey, Malark,” said Toye, trying to engage the redhead after noticing his friends disquiet. “Where’s the best chow?”

Malakey wasn’t even paying attention, stonewalling Toye’s attempt.

“In Berlin,” said Toye, expecting at least a pity smile, but there was nothing.

-

“Nice gun, Buck!” Malarkey called out to Compton as he came and joined them about an hour later.

Eve opened her closed eyes and glanced around. Malarkey seemed like he was coming back to his old self, which seemed like a good omen.

“Thanks, some Lieutenant in Dog broke his leg and gave it to me.”

“Easy Company?” asked a soldier, by the looks of him, he was a runner for command.

Eve pointed him in the direction of the lieutenants with a lazy finger, but got up and started gathering her gun and helmet.

Since no one had seen anything from Lieutenant Meehan, or anyone from his plane, Lieutenant Winters was called up as the new commander of Easy. Eve watched him go, with some trepidation.

They were getting a mission.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Doc Roe coming into town, a bloodied trooper slung across his back. Eve let out a sigh of relief, a knot of tension she hadn’t even notice falling away. He’d made it.

She dropped the gear she’d just gathered to the ground and went to help him out, ducking under the injured troopers opposite limp arm.

“Hey, Doc,” she greeted with a nod, taking on as much of the weight as she could with her ankle. Who knew how long Roe had been carrying the man. “Aid station’s this way,” she said and led the exhausted men to the tent that had appeared in the last few hours.

As soon as they got close, Gene hollered and two medics with a stretcher appeared. Within seconds, the injured man was lifted from her care and rushed to a stretcher.

A quick glance around proved that Eve would be more in the way than of any use. She left them there, figuring Gene and the other assembled medics could take care of business far better without her loitering. She gave the exhausted looking Cajun a pat on the back. In return, Gene gave her a tired nod and ducked into the tent, shedding his helmet from his raven-black hair.

Eve heard Winters yelling for Easy Company to muster inside a barn. She hurried back to the tree and got the supplies she’d abandoned, picking up the pack she’d filled with ammunition, and other useful things, plus her M1.

She was the last to join the men in the barn. They’d gathered around a hay bale.

“Sir, does the Major know we only have thirteen Easy Company men?” Compton asked as Winters began to explain their mission.

“No, it didn’t come up,” Winters replied easily.

Eve huffed a laugh; it was just like Winters to not even think of bringing it up in the first place.

She listened intently as Lieutenant Winters outlined his understanding of the enemy’s position on a scrap paper with a charcoal pencil, and outlined the attack formations that he wanted.

“The 88s we’ve been hearing have been spotted in a field down the road a ways,” he said circling the gun positions. “Major Strayer wants us to take ‘em out.

“There are two guns that we know of,” he drew their positions with ‘X’ marks the spot, “firing on Utah beach. And plan on a third and a fourth, here and here,” he drew two more X’s and numbered them. “The Germans are in the trenches, with access to the entire battery with machine gun covering the rear. We’ll establish a base of fire, and move under it hard and fast in two squads of three.”

“How many Krauts do they think we’re facing?” Guarnere asked.

Winters looked up from the map he’d drawn of the area and admitted, “No idea.”

“No idea?” Guarnere nodded, reeling a bit as the consequences of that hit him.

“We’ll take some TNT along with us,” resumed Winters, “to spike the guns. Lipton, that’ll be your responsibility.”

“Yes, sir,” said Lip, sounding eager.

“Liebgott, you’ll take the first machine gun, with Petty A-Gunner.” Meaning Petty was going to be firing the weapon while Liebgott was responsible for keeping the ammo from jamming the weapon. “Plesha, Hendrix, you take the other.”

She spied Lieutenant Speirs subtly observing their objective from over Buck’s shoulder. She figured she’d see him during the engagement at some point even if it wasn’t Dog Company’s mission.

“Who does that leave?” asked Winters. Eve raised her hand with the rest of the neglected men.

“Compton, Malarkey, Toye, Guarnere, Buchanan, okay, we’ll be making the main assault, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she intoned with the men.

“All right, let’s pack it up boys,” said Lip as they moved out.

“Shouldn’t you be outside with the other Able Company guys?” asked Toye, noticing Hall. Eve hadn’t even noticed him loitering behind, eavesdropping.

“See you around, Hall,” said Guarnere, smug. Eve slipped by the lost young man on her way out of the barn to go find some more ammo.

She understood the pull that Winters had as a leader. He made you feel vitally important to the mission, when you were with him. He put you at ease. But Able Company had their own missions to fulfill, and Hall belonged with them.

-

“Lipton, when you see we’ve captured the first gun, I want you with your TNT as fast as possible,” said Winters delivering a Musset bag with more ammo to the center of the knot of Easy men gearing up for their first real combat mission.

“Okay!” called Winters, “just weapons and ammo. Drop everything else. Got any spare ammo in a pack or Musset bag? Bring it along!” Eve passed out what she had still stashed on her, making sure everyone had roughly the same amount.

“Jesus,” said Guarnere as he realized how much ammo she’d been hauling around as he took his share off her.

“Lieutenant, sir?” said Lorraine, approaching Winters from behind. “I was wondering sir, do you need an extra hand?”

Toye looked at the man sidelong, appraising him. “Ain’t you Sink’s jeep driver?”

“So?” said Lorraine, offended that it would make him any less of a soldier. Eve ignored this byplay. Lorraine hadn’t been under Sobel like they had.

“Oh, shit,” mumbled Guarnere.

Eve kept her head down and kept distributing ammo, making sure her gun was still sighted the way it should be.

“What’s your name trooper?” asked Winters, who was also checking his stolen gun, making sure it wasn’t going to jam on him.

“Lorraine, sir,” he said, standing before Winters at attention.

“You’re with me, Lorraine,” said Winters, busy. “Compton,” he called to the man as he moved behind him, “second squad?”

“Yes, sir!” said Compton, snapping ammo into his Tommy Gun.

“All right you heard the word, let’s move, let’s move!” called Lipton.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happen on Thursdays. This was brought to you today by the most irritating computer in the world, connected to McDonalds Wifi from the parking lot in New Orleans. You're welcome.


	11. Brecourt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company jumped out of an airplane and landed in Normandy.
> 
> Now: Easy Company gets to work. 
> 
> "You can conquer almost any fear if you will only make up your mind to do so. For remember, fear doesn't exist anywhere except in the mind." - Dale Carnegie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Atman

-Chapter 11-

They made their way, single file, up the hedgerow towards the guns. Eve’s heart was pounding, and she could barely breathe for the fear suffocating her. She found some cover and crouched down with Lip, Ranney, and Lorraine behind the shrubbery, waiting for Winters to finish dolling out his last minute orders to the other squad.

She sat down and just tried to breathe, trying to focus. She’d done this before. This was just like training – with live bullets – and death as a consequence if she failed.

 _Jesus Christ. Okay, just remember the facts. We’ve done this before. All I have to do is follow Winters. I can do this. I can do this. Let’s go over it once more,_ she thought, trying to get a grip on herself.

Her job was to stick with Winters, which meant, initially, they were going to provide covering fire and a very nice target for the machine gun position that she could see just on the other side of her cover. The Krauts wandered about in the open without a care, safe in the knowledge that they were behind their front lines. Apparently they hadn’t been informed that their front line had just gained a lot of holes due to the paratroopers bringing the fight inland.

Winters waved Lipton over. “Take Ranney, envelop right, give covering fire.” He used a gun blast to cover his next order, “Lorraine, Buchanan on the machine gun!”

Eve ducked forward with Lorraine to get a good view of the machine gun nest, perched between a tree and a rusted truck. She spent several careful moments lining up her sight on the A Gunner and then waited for the signal.

Winters continued to give Lipton and Ranney orders while he watched Compton and his squad set up for the assault. “Don’t give away your position until you have to. I _want that TNT_ as soon as you see we’ve captured the first gun. Go!”

“Yes, sir,” said Lip, already leaving.

Winters waited a moment before signaling to Compton to move. He joined Eve and Lorraine in the shrubbery and signaled for Liebgott and Petty on the machine gun to start shooting.

The Germans started screaming. Within moments, they’d mounted a counter assault. Balls of lead peppered the embankment hiding the American’s. Dirt and snapped branches flew everywhere, smacking into Eve’s helmet and jabbing into her back as they fell from the trees above. She flinched away from the sharp assault, and missed her shot. She reset with a quiet curse, and pulled off another round. She watched the trace of the bullet arc through the air; pinging the gunner in the helmet and sending him down.

On the other side of the field, Compton led his squad of Malarkey and Guarnere for the initial assault on the trenches.

Eve desperately hoped the gunfire was distracting the Germans enough that they wouldn’t notice the other squad. Bullets bounced in the dirt and trees around them spraying debris as they exploded in the ground. The roar of the machine guns was louder than Eve could ever have believed without experiencing it. Training, even with live rounds, had nothing on the sheer volume of actual combat. And she was going through ammo at a ridiculous rate, reloading with trembling hands, each second wasted trying to reload was the one that would get her killed.

She heard Winters say, “Come on, Buck,” next to her as they ducked down under the intense machine gun fire. The return fire was too heavy. Eve couldn’t line up another shot. She’d given up on aiming and accuracy, there was no time to waste picking out each and every shot. She just fired her rifle towards the enemy and hoped for the best.

After minutes that felt like hours, Winters saw what he was waiting for and called: “Let’s go! Let's go! Follow me!”

He led the assault team, tearing from the hedgerows towards the trench, bullets bouncing off the ground in front of him. He made it into the trench, Toye and Eve on his heels, startling the gun crew there so much that they fled along with a lot of the remaining infantry down the trench and across the field, away from Easy Company.

Popeye fell head first into the trench, screaming, “Ah fuck!”

Eve, recovering from her jump, centered her gravity and started shooting at the fleeing Krauts; aiming for the torso as the biggest target. She saw several go down, but couldn’t tell if it was her shots or Toye’s, or Winters’s – not that it mattered. When Eve’s target dropped she moved to the next one, there were several to choose from.

They met Compton’s group at the gun, adding rifle fire to the grenades peppering the retreating Germans. Compton threw a grenade at a moving Kraut, hitting him square in the back as it exploded. _That’s one hell of an arm,_ Eve thought and popped off another Kraut.

“I’m sorry, sir!” she heard Popeye say, over and over.

She was too busy reloading to help. She heard Lorraine whimper and squeeze off several rounds trying to hit one of the few remaining Krauts in the open.

“Jesus Christ,” snarled Guarnere, watching Lorraine waste four bullets without managing to hit the man. He pulled up his carbine and shot a controlled burst that struck the Kraut square in the back as Eve shot him in the head.

“Fucking jeep jockey,” Guarnere growled at Lorraine as he passed the poor fellow, who had to reload before he could follow them to the staging area around the big gun.

Eve followed the Italian, and saw Toye, tending to Popeye, who was lying on his stomach and still cursing. “Shit! I’m sorry, sir, I screwed up!”

She heard a German scream and whirled. Winters put the man down.

A German potato-masher sailed into the trench, landing about a foot away from Joe Toye’s feet.

Winters yelled a warning, “Grenade! Joe! Toye! Roll out! Roll out!”

Toye fell forward onto the injured Popeye, making him scream in agony as the blast rocked the trench.

Eve held up an arm as soft earth mixed with molten shrapnel splashed into her.

“Get off!” Popeye screamed, his agony plain.

Toye wasn’t moving.

Compton rushed towards the two downed men, but Guarnere and Eve could only stare in horror.

Toye sat up.

He smoothed a hand down his front, tugging on himself to make sure that everything important was in place. He picked up his ruined rifle.

Somehow, Toye had managed to get his gun down fast enough that the stock of the gun exploded rather than his balls.

Guarnere and Eve witnessed his relief, Guarnere saying, “One lucky bastard, Joe!” before going back to picking off Germans.

Winters headed up the trench for the second gun, shouting: “Guarnere, Malarkey, Lorraine, secure that gun!”

He started running forward up the trench for the second gun. “Compton, covering fire! Buchanan, on me!”

She ceased firing on the German machine gun post and ducked after him.

Easy’s movements were confined to the trench system. Bullets cut across the top of the trench in an unending stream of enemy fire. The German’s further up the trench from the other guns were going to wage a counterattack soon; they were possibly setting up an ambush right now. They needed to cut that attack off at the source, _right now_ , or Easy was heading into a shitstorm.

Winters led Eve to a connecting trench. He paused at the corner.

Eve plastered herself to the wall next to him, waiting for instructions.

Winters gave her a nod, verifying that she was set in place for whatever was around the corner.

She gave him a short nod back. She was ready.

Winters took a breath to steel himself. He snuck a glance around the bend.

He used a few, brisk, hand movements to convey the situation to Eve.

Two Krauts, setting up a machine gun.

If they succeeded, they would turn the next trench into a kill-box. Easy Company would be slaughtered, right here.

Eve would take the one on the left.

She nodded, and slid down so she wouldn’t get in Winters’s way.

He gave a three count. On one, she whipped around the corner and fired, pulling back immediately after squeezing the trigger.

Winters hit the A gunner in the hip, and Eve caught the second gunner in the shoulder. That was all they had time for as Winters pulled back to check on the rest of the squad. They’d deal with the possible future ambush once their position was secure.

Winters gave the signal to pull in Petty and Liebgott and their machine gun to set up a new base of fire.

Without further prompting, Eve went back to peppering the Germans with suppressing fire as she followed Winters slowly back up the trench to the first gun.

Popeye was still on the ground and still apologizing over and over for fucking up.

Winters and Compton helped the man get over the back of the trench so he could crawl his way back to the rear and get some aid for his wounded backside.

 _Where the hell is Lipton with that TNT?_ she thought as the Germans opened up again, forcing her back down for cover. They needed to blow the gun already and move on.

Buck, under MG fire, pulled another pin on a grenade to throw at the fleeing Germans, but someone bumped him and he fumbled it, losing track of it in the trench.

“Grenade!” he screamed. He and Winters popped out of the trench lickety-split. Toye and Eve didn’t have enough time to process what was going on, and scrambled to get out of the trench.

Eve managed it, but the grenade blew Toye back into the trench.

“Toye!” Buck screamed, rolling back into the trench.

Eve scrambled up from the sprawl the blast had pushed her into, praying Toye was alright.

“Jesus Christ,” Toye said, spitting out the dirt that the blast had showered on his face.

 _Just dirt,_ thought Eve, running her eyes over the man. _Thank God._

“Fucking twice,” Toye growled.

Winters checked Eve over as she did a once over herself. Her adrenaline was pumping so hard she didn’t think she’d even feel a wound if it happened to her until she fainted from blood loss. She wasn’t injured though, so she found her gun and helmet where they’d flown free of her and kept moving.

Winters and Compton scouted the second gun.

“Grenades first,” Winters ordered. “Then keep going.”

“Got it,” said Buck. He moved out on Winters’s cue, under a hail of fire.

Compton and Toye launched their grenades into the gun position, managing to time them going off just before Winters and Eve burst into the area. Most of the gun crew fled, the braver men were shot as they reached for weapons, but there was a soldier who, instead of retreating, threw his hands up into the air screaming, “No make dead! _Nicht schieβen_!”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Toye screamed in reply, a note of hysteria in his voice. The Kraut obviously didn’t understand because he just kept repeating his pleas. Toye belted him with his brass knuckles. He went down with what was likely a broken jaw.

Toye stared at the man, unsure if that had been the right call, but Winters just gave him a pat on the shoulder and moved behind the cover of the gun.

“Stay down, Buchanan! Toye! Stay down! Stay down!” Buck shouted as they shot at the second gun’s fleeing crew. Eve was firing on instinct now, just like she would at multiple skeet, confident that her shots would hit and so not bothering to pay the downed targets further mind once she’d fired.

“Compton!” screamed Winters.

“Alright, cover for me,” said Buck, pulling back from the embankment to Winters position.

“Must be doing something right! Look!” said Winters, pointing at the machine gun positions that had been peppering them all day. “We’ve got ‘em so confused they’re firing on the third gun!”

“We’d better blow this thing before they figure out what the hell’s happened, then!” he said, grinning.

“I’m gonna go see what’s keeping Lipton,” said Winters with a smack to Bucks arm. “Buchanan! With me!”

“Toye!” called Compton, “Covering fire!”

Eve followed Winters back up the trench, flinching under the whining whiz of bullets racing over her head.

Liebgott and Petty pulled forward to re-setup their machine gun at the first gun’s position, hooking up with Malarkey, Guarnere, and Lorraine.

“I think one of those dead Krauts has a Luger!” screamed Malarkey from ahead of them.

“Keep your head low, Petty!” ordered Liebgott, “Come on, move it!” Dirt showered them as they made it over the sandbags to the relative safety of the gun. “How ‘bout a little suppressing fire why don’t cha!” he barked at Malarkey, who was staring out at the open field.

“Malarkey!” screamed Guarnere, trying to snap the man out of it.

It was no use.

Eve watched in horror as Malarkey popped out from behind cover, racing towards a downed German, and the pouch at his side.

Winters started yelling at the foolish redhead, pouring on more speed. The trench suddenly seemed so much longer than it had when he’d led Eve towards the second gun.

“Goddamn it!” said Eve, her eyes fixed on Malarkey, waiting for him to be killed in front of her. It was on the edge of every heart beat.

The guns stopped. An odd lull took over the field as both sides waited to see what the redhead would do.

“Now you stop firing?” Liebgott said, still shouting despite the sudden lack of sound. “Beautiful.”

“Christ, they must think he’s a medic or something!” cried Petty.

Evidently, that was true since the Kraut weren’t firing at him at all; until he started running his Irish butt back to their lines at Liebgott’s prompting cry of: “Malarkey!”

Eve watched as somehow, Malarkey managed to dodge all the shit they shot at him and got back to cover without getting wounded. Either the Krauts had terrible aim or Malarkey had some kind of angel on his shoulder.

As soon as he made it back, Petty, Liebgott and Guarnere opened fire on the Kraut machine gun positions again.

“Got your freaking Luger?” snapped Guarnere between his gun bursts so Malarkey could hear him, “Want I should go get it for ya, ya stupid Mick?”

Winters hit the dirt beside the newly returned Malarkey, Eve only a beat behind him. “Where’s Lipton with that TNT?” Winters asked Guarnere with a slap to his shoulder.

“Don’t know, sir!” answered Guarnere, reloading.

They had no choice but to hold the position and wait for him. Eve was getting worried. She was running dangerously low on ammo, which was ridiculous considering the massive amount she’d brought. _Where the hell did it all fucking go?_

Two new faces joined them in the gun position. One had a Captain’s bars, and the other was the trooper Winters had managed to land with, Hall.

“Hiya, Cowboy!” called Guarnere noticing them first.

“Shut your fucking Guinea trap, Gonorrhea!” said Hall.

“He’s alright, that kid,” Guarnere informed Malarkey with a pleased grin on his face.

“Jesus, you got a whole Kraut Platoon out there!” said the Captain.

 _Hester,_ Eve remembered at a glance.

“Probably more, Captain,” agreed Winters.

“Need help?” asked Hester.

“I need ammo, sir! Lots of it!” shouted Winters to be heard over the fire. He had to duck his face against the dirt as a sudden machine gun burst shattered ricochets off the gun’s armor and into the dirt around them. “And TNT!”

Eve, finally having found more ammo for her gun and reloading it, leaned around Winters to fire on the machine gun muzzle flashes.

“I’ve got TNT, sir!” said Hall, pulling forward a bag of it.

“Good job, Private!” called Winters and he gave him the okay to shove some down the gun barrel.

Hester, having gotten an understanding of the situation, headed back to battalion to find some reinforcements and ammo for Easy.

Hall had the TNT but no way to set it off. Winters dropped the ordinance down the barrel of the gun before scrounging a German potato masher and sending it off down the barrel as well.

“Fire in the hole!” he screamed.

The guys all piled together, with Winters managing to cover Eve’s body with his own, his arm protecting her neck. They only waited a second before the breech of the gun blew out.

Winters ordered Plesha to give covering fire on the third gun from his position. He had Lorraine grab more of the potato mashers, and had Eve, Hall and Malarkey follow him up the trench to the second gun up the line with Buchanan again on his six.

Eve didn’t stop firing as she moved down the trench, following Winters’s lead in taking opportune moments to hammer the retreating and fortified Germans, spitting out what dirt managed to land in her mouth as she was running from machine gun bullets.

They reached the second gun with Compton and Toye still holding the position, fortified behind the gun.

Compton turned back to greet them with: “Running a little low on ammo, sir!”

“How ‘bout you, Malarkey?” Winters asked.

“Okay,” replied Malark.

Winters thought about it for only half a second before tapping Compton on the shoulder. “Think you got enough to take the third gun?”

“We’ll soon find out, Dick,” said Buck with a grin. “Malarkey, let’s go! Toye, cover!”

Winters had Hall follow them, “Keep your head down!” he offered as the man ran by him. “Hall!” he remembered. “Leave your TNT!”

Hall left the bag with the TNT and the potato mashers he’d grabbed and followed Compton and Malarkey along the trench to the third gun.

Winters fell on Eve again as he called, “Fire in the hole!” to protect her from shrapnel. He settled next to her and they watched Buck and Malarkey take the third gun. It seemed like only moments before Buck was signaling that they had the gun secured.

“Buchanan, with me!” he called as he scooped up the TNT bag. They headed for the third gun.

When they reached what was obviously the German command center, they found Hall.

He was lying face down but his neck was bent at a near ninety degrees, his large brown eyes staring blankly up at them.

Wounds peppered his face and jaw.

Winters sank to the ground and waved a hand in front of the man’s eyes, hoping that he was just in shock, that he would track the movement.

No luck.

He was gone.

Winters took a deep breath, biting back a curse.

Eve reached out to touch his arm, trying to give him a sense that he was not alone.

He stared at her, a kind of hopelessness entering his eyes.

She gripped his sleeve and shook her head. There was nothing they could do.

A blast from one of the remaining guns snapped him out of it.

“Let’s go,” he said, and they moved on.

After he’d blasted the third gun with Hall’s TNT calling “Fire in the hole!” Winters followed the sound of German voices and found a desk laid out with documents and maps. He didn’t know what they were maps of exactly, but the points on them must be significant in some way. Nix would probably want it. He folded them up and tucked them into his jacket before going back to help provide cover for the third gun.

They were still sitting on the third gun, prepping to launch the attack on the last gun with their now paltry supplies, when Lieutenant Ronald Speirs of D Company and those few of his company who had made it to the assembly area joined them.

He was covered in extra ammo; which Winters was more than happy to relieve him of.

“Winters!” greeted Speirs. “Hester said you needed ammo!”

Speirs handed the bag holding the spare cartridges off. Winters distributed it to Malarkey and Eve after only a moment of processing the laden Lieutenant in front of him.

“Mind if D Company takes a shot at the next gun?” Speirs asked.

“All yours!” called Winters.

“Let’s go, Dog Company!” Speirs shouted as he vaulted over the gun Winters was using for cover and ran towards the last gun.

A soldier behind him called, “Up and at ‘em D Company!” as they passed.

Eve watched them go, before remembering to provide them with covering fire and pay attention to what she was supposed to be doing.

“Compton!” called Winters, ducking to the camouflaged embankment to watch.

“Who is that?” asked Compton, “Speirs?”

Winters and Compton watched with some bafflement as Speirs hopped out of the trench to gain a high ground advantage, shocked at his audacity.

“What is he doin’ out of the trench?” Winters asked.

“Oh, what the hell’s he doin’?” asked Buck, watching.

Somehow, Speirs managed to lead his company on an attack of the final gun, which he took and destroyed losing only two men.

“Oh, Jesus,” said Buck, pulling back.

Lip finally caught up with them. He landed next to Winters, pulling out his TNT.

“Sir,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I had a little trouble getting through that first field.”

Winters just pointed at the destroyed gun barrel. Lip followed his finger and sagged in disappointment. “They’re going to need it up at the next gun,” said Winters. Lip nodded. “Once it’s blown, tell ‘em to pull out. Go!”

Lip went.

Winters led Eve and Compton back up the trench telling the men to pull out as he came across them. They were still taking heavy machine gun fire from the hedge line near Brecourt Manor, and with the guns destroyed there was no real point in holding the trench.

They reached the first gun. Winters patted the still firing men on the back as he passed them telling them: “Move out! Move out! Move it out!” He got to the end of their line, to Liebgott and Petty on the machine gun. “MGs first!” he called.

Eve fell on the line next to Guarnere and started firing off the rounds she had left.

“Everyone! Maintain your base of fire,” Winters ordered. It was so the machine gunners would have time to pull apart their guns and duck back to their original position.

Once they were finished and ready to move, Winters said. “Okay, back to Battalion! Go! Go!”

What was left of Easy Company leapt out of the trench and ran back across the open field towards their assembly area and Battalion HQ.

Eve was second to last out of the hole. Winters made sure she and the rest were out before he was. As he was leaving he caught sight of a Gerry carrying a MG ready to flank them.

He shot him clean through the head without a thought. He kept moving, staying low to avoid the still heavy machine gun fire from the rear.

Eve didn’t slow down until the assembly area was in sight, but once it was, she stopped to wait for her trialing Lieutenant to catch up.

He smiled at her. “You did good, Sergeant,” he said.

Eve’s brain froze even as her feet kept her moving forward. _Really_ , she wondered. _As good as the men_? He’d kept her with him the whole time, had he been that unsure of her? She didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead, she said, “Just like training, sir.”

“Just like training,” he agreed with a nod. They walked a few further steps when he spoke again, “I’m glad you’re with us, Eve.”

Eve stared at him. She didn’t have an answer for that. It didn’t really matter. Lieutenant Nixon came jogging over to flag Winters down. Nix would probably know what to do with the map Winters found.

Eve watched them go, feeling oddly invincible and like she was about to shatter into pieces all at the same time. She decided to put everything to the side, and go find some chow; she was hungry enough to eat dirt, after all, but it would also keep her mind off things.

-

She learned later that the final tally for the mission was relatively low. They had four dead, including the two from Dog Company, the poor sap from Battalion HQ who’d been lost in the field, and Hall. Then there were their two wounded, one of which was Popeye.

In return, they killed fifteen Germans, wounded many more, and took twelve prisoners, completely wiping out the fifty-man platoon of Germans defending the guns. They’d fought like a team, without standout stars, like the well-oiled-machine they’d trained to be. Most importantly they’d gotten the job done. It went better than Eve could have ever dreamed. She’d finally had her chance and proven that she was just as good in a fight as any of the boys.

She knew that it wouldn’t erase all the prejudices amongst the men, but it was a good start.

She also learned about Nix’s very impressive day. Apparently, after he’d gotten the map from Winters, a map he’d quickly realized had all the German gun positions in Normandy on it, he’d run the thing all the way down to the beach, all three miles, where it was rowed out to the heavy guns on the battleships. In exchange, he received a very nice present of the tanks that were sitting on Utah beach waiting to be put to use. They’d agreed to head up with Nix to get what they could done up at the 506th’s assembly area, so he rode back into camp in style.

-

Eve walked into the Aid Station, looking for Roe. She hadn’t seen him since they’d left for Brecourt, hours ago. If his night had been anything like hers, he wouldn’t have eaten anything either. So here she was, ready to drag him off for a break.

There were men laying on every available surface, the stench from the already rotting wounds churned her stomach, threatening to violently expel from her. She was seriously regretting the canteen of water she’d swallowed after the fight as she fought to keep it down. She tried breathing through her mouth, but that only let her taste it. The heat, already warm outside, was stifling, embracing her completely in the stale, stinking air. The men were groaning in pain, some screaming in agony for their mothers, or God, anyone who could take away the pain.

She was suddenly extremely grateful that she’d decided to come check on Roe. She didn’t think she could last another minute in this place the smell was so bad, and Roe’d been here all day.

She finally spotted a likely head of hair, frantically mopping up blood from a gaping hole in a man. The bullet or whatever it was had torn away a large chunk of skin in the man’s belly. She made her way over, suddenly desperate to help, slinging her gun across her shoulder and out of the way.

Roe looked up when another pair of hands joined his. He saw Eve’s determined face, focused on the man in front of them and nothing else, using her hands to push the blood away from the wound so he could see that the intestine hadn’t been nicked, merely exposed, thank God.

Roe shook out a bandage to cinch around the poor bastard’s middle, pressing the padding onto the wound and flinging the white ties across his torso. “Tilt him up,” he instructed his unexpected helper.

Eve grabbed the man’s shoulders and hauled him onto his side so Roe could wrap the bandage around him.

“Okay,” he said. Eve gently lowered the wounded soldier back on the bed. Roe pulled the straps tight, pulling a whimper from the nearly unconscious man. He’d already been given a morphine syrette to ease his pain, so he had been pretty quiet until now. Eve, her hands suddenly free, shushed the man like she would have a small child, smoothing his hair back from his forehead with her blood slicked hand, leaving long smears of red on the pallid face.

“You’re alright,” said Roe, adding to the reassurances. “It’s not that bad. You’re gonna be just fine. Just one more pull,” he gave the straps a final yank, forcing as much pressure as he could onto the wound to stem the bleeding.

He gave Eve a nod, they were done. She gave the man a final pat on the head and followed Roe to a cleaning station, where they washed the blood off their hands in already murky water. She dried them on her filthy ODs.

“You hurt?” Roe asked as he flicked his hands dry, unable to use his ODs since his hands needed to stay as sterile as he could get them. Eve realized she hadn’t even worried about it when she’d jumped in. There was nothing for it now, but she vowed to do better about it next time, if there was a next time.

Eve blinked at him and then looked down to see the bloodstain from this morning. Christ, had it only been this morning? It seemed like days ago, not hours. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not mine.”

Roe nodded and then pinned her with a fierce stare, “What’re you doin’ here, Eve? You trying out for the Med Corp and I didn’t hear about it?”

“Lord, no,” she said vehemently. Not if they paid her ten thousand dollars a day would she work here. “I came to check on you, and then it looked like you needed a hand.”

Roe blinked, honestly not sure what to do with that.

Eve, unable to keep from shifting under Roe’s too sharp gaze, spoke again, “Have you had a chance to eat yet?”

He shook his head, still in awe of the woman in front of him.

“Alright then,” she said. “Anyone you need to tell you’re taking a break?”

He moved to find the man who’d assumed command of the medics and let him know he was going to find food. The man gave him a distracted nod and ran to assist a soldier being hauled in on a stretcher.

Roe spent a moment, as he made his way back to Eve, to just watch the woman as she stared at the man whose blood had so recently coated their hands. There was something a little too stiff in the way she was standing.

“Eve?” he said, able to catch her attention right away.

“Right,” she said, giving a last look at the injured Private before striding out of the tent.

The sunlight hit her in the face like a splash of cold water. She hadn’t realized how suffocating it had been in the tent. She looked at Roe as he soaked up the sparse sunlight too. Her respect for him, already high, doubled. She knew in that moment, despite never having to fire a gun, Roe had the hardest job in the whole damn Army. God bless all the medics. She was so fucking grateful she’d avoided the Nursing Corps and being a medic. She wouldn’t have been able to handle it. She added a prayer for her friend, grateful he was made of sterner stuff than she was.

“You alright, Ev?” he asked, drawing her from her head again.

“Yeah,” she said, “I don’t know how you do it Gene.” She shook her head, hoping to shake the thoughts away. “Let’s go find some food.”

He gave a nod and followed her to where the supply officers were handing out the K-rations they’d confiscated from the men who’d managed to land with them. They each took a package and found a place on the ground, out of the way to eat. The already cardboard tasting ration packs felt like ash in her mouth as her mind kept flashing scenes from the Aid Station across her vision.

“Did you see Popeye?” she asked, trying to keep the images at bay.

“Did he get hit?”

“In the ass,” she said.

“No,” said Roe, chewing over the words, “but I’m sure he’s fine. That’s probably the safest place to get hit,” he said.

Eve hummed but went back to eating. She only managed half of it and gave the rest to Roe, giving him a look when he tried to protest and then shoving the remains in his pockets when he refused to take them. “For later,” she said and then stood up, dusting off her ass out of habit before wandering off to go see if any other E Company men had wandered into the Assembly Area.

Roe watched her go.

-

It was dark now, light discipline in full effect to ward off the Luftwaffe, German bombers, from blowing their assembly area to hell.

By nightfall, they’d secured St. Marie-du-Mont, allowing the 4th Division to move men and material inland. The screams of the wounded and dying haunted the dark, pulling Eve back into the Aid Station in her mind’s eye. She avoided going back like the plague.

They only had an hour to rest before they were heading south to secure Culoville and Eve was searching for a place where she could take an uninterrupted nap. Food would have been nice too, but sleep was paramount at the moment, and she was too tired to fuss with more shitty K-rations. It seemed like such a monumental task.

She heard a shout that might’ve been her, and paused, turning to find the source.

“Ev!” Malarkey called again. She finally caught sight of the Irishman heading straight for her with a smile on his face, Sergeant Lipton on his heels. “You eaten yet?” asked the man eagerly.

“No,” she said, hesitant in the face of his eagerness. It had been hours since her half a ration with Roe, and the pangs of hunger had started gnawing at her.

“Good,” said Lip seizing her around the shoulders and steering her back the way they’d come.

“What’s going on?” she asked, bewildered as she let Lip lead her through the various military equipment strewn around.

“We’re getting the Easy guys from the mission today, and Malark here is gonna cook some chow.”

“And you want me there?” said Eve, just making sure.

“You were there weren’t you?” he asked, confused. “Whatdya say?”

“Sure,” she answered. Lip shared a victory smile with Malark over her head. They led her to a tarp-covered truck, already smoking.

Eve slipped under the flap and climbed in after Malark, grabbing Guarnere and Toye’s hands as they pulled her up and into the jeep. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood, immediately throwing her back to camping and hunting in the woods with her father. She stared at the burning fire with a bit of apprehension. Even an idiot knew having a fire underneath a tarp was just asking for the tarp to catch fire.

“Eve, you made it!” said Liebgott with a huge grin. He slid over to make space for her between him and Lieutenant Compton, who offered her a smile.

“Everybody here?” asked Malark, dumping some meat – and she didn’t want to know where he got it, thanks – and other indeterminate ingredients into an empty metal box originally used to hold machine gun bullets.

They sat and bitched at each other while the food heated up. Eve was mostly quiet, content just to be included, but laughed easily with the others. The longer the food took, the worse it smelled. Or maybe that was the gas Malarkey let rip without warning.

“Oh God,” said Eve as the general groan of disgust and disapproval came from the others. It was absolutely foul, and Eve had smelled a lot of very foul things today. This was definitely up there. “What the hell did you eat, Malark!” she demanded, her hand pressed to her nose.

“It’s those stupid K-rations,” he said with a smile, absolutely tickled that he’d made everyone else groan. “They give me gas.”

Eve gave him a horrified look over her hand, which made the other boys laugh. “I’m never, ever sharing a foxhole with you then,” she threatened.

“Aw man,” joked Malark, wickedly pleased that he’d managed to get Eve to act like a girl for once.

It only took three more bursts of flatulence before Lieb had enough of the smell and decided to abandon ship.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Toye, as Liebgott started standing up.

“I want out of the back of this Goddamn truck is what,” he said pushing his way out. Eve was tempted to join him, but wanted the food too much at this point to give up now.

“Come on,” cried Toye. “You’re steppin on my legs!”

“Jesus!” said Lieb, finally reaching the flap and flinging it open for fresh air. “Let me outta here!”

“Light!” barked Lipton, “light discipline!” He sighed when Liebgott ignored him and walked away. “Guarnere, close that flap,” he said.

“Let the Krauts cook their own Goddamn food,” said Guarnere. They’d been talking about the POWs they’d taken, and how the Army was now using their rations to feed the Krauts. Guarnere was more than happy to express his displeasure.

Malark pulled the tin from the fire and took a bite.

“How we doin’ Malark?” asked Guarnere.

“We’re doin’ good,” said the man putting it back on the fire for a few more minutes.

Buck leaned over the tin, giving it a disdainful sniff, “Doing good? What the Hell do you know about cooking, Malark? You’re Irish.” Eve and Toye laughed.

“Sir, if you have reservations someplace else I’d be happy to go with you,” Malarkey replied as he dished out the brown stew-like concoction. Eve got first serving, which, with how bad it smelled, wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

It still probably hadn’t been the best idea having a fire in the back of the jeep, but it was that or eat cold food, and with the stench coming off whatever it was, its one redeeming value was that it was hot.

The fellas stared at Eve expectantly, and she obediently took the first bite. She nearly spit it right back out.

The other guys cracked up and started eating their own shares.

Malarkey let off another fart, which was getting ridiculous by this point, cracking Eve and the other guys up. Guarnere popped his head out the back flap saying, “Jesus Christ, gimme some air!” which made them laugh harder.

“Oh God,” groaned Eve, giggling.

The back flap opened and Lieutenant Winters ducked under the cover. “Evening,” he greeted with a smile, fiddling with a can of tuna he’d scrounged from who knows where.

“Hello, sir,” Guarnere answered.

“Did something die in here?” Winters asked, nearly retreating back outside to escape the smell. He tried to get a better look at what it could possibly be.

“Yeah, Malarkey’s ass,” said Eve, grumbling it low into her tin plate. Guarnere and Lip lost it again.

“Uh,” said Buck, somber, “Any word on Lieutenant Meehan yet, sir?”

“No, not yet.” Winters looked down again. Buck watched him and then turned to meet everyone else’s eyes.

“Don’t that make you our commanding officer, sir?” asked Guarnere.

“Yeah, it does,” said Winters. His face asked Guarnere whether or not they were going to have a problem. If Guarnere would follow his orders without question once more. Eve watched Guarnere give him a nod of obvious respect and understood that there would be no problems of disobeyed orders from here on in.

She turned her attention back to the fire and Lip, who’d been poking it with a stick for the last however long she’d been in this truck, presumably to keep it burning, but he did it so often it was obvious he was just playing with it. It made the most beautiful smoke whirls. It had been the kind of day that made her try and appreciate the small things in life, namely, that she was still around to enjoy them.

“Sir?” Toye offered Winters some of the cider he’d scrounged.

“Ah, Joe, the Lieutenant don’t drink,” said Guarnere with a smile, trying to show his respect for the man in the way he said it. It was certainly a far cry from the loud displeasure he’d expressed only this morning.

But Winters, after a moment’s hesitation took the bottle anyway, to Guarnere’s obvious shock.

“It’s been a day of firsts,” he said as he took a pull from the bottle and swallowed hard, much to Guarnere’s pleasure. “Don’t you think Guarnere?” he added, offering the Sergeant the bottle.

“Yes, sir,” said Guarnere, a new, even greater respect for the man in his eyes. They’d always respected Winters as a leader, but it was this kind of thing – putting his men at ease before his own comfort – that made him a great man. Guarnere took his own swig.

“Carry on,” Winters said, pulling back, careful to keep escaped light to a minimum. Eve and the boys offered him a good night, but he seemed to remember something and ducked back in. “Oh, and Sergeant?” Guarnere was already back to staring at the fire.

“Sir?” said Guarnere in confusion.

“I’m not a Quaker.” And he was gone.

Everyone in the truck lost it, laughing hard to release the tension as Guarnere ducked his head, busted.

“He’s from Lancaster County. He’s probably a Mennonite,” said Guarnere taking a drag on his Lucky Strike.

“What’s a Mennonite?” asked Toye. They laughed again, because it didn’t really matter.

Outside, the success of the invasion was far from certain, but inside this Army supply truck, tarp down for light discipline, the soldiers from the Brecourt attack were happy to be alive and bitching about Malarkey’s cooking.

 _Maybe_ , Eve thought as she tried chewing through the rock-tough meat, _maybe they don't hate me anymore._

-

They found a place to sack-out. Winters set up outposts and Eve was just thankful not to be the poor bastard selected for duty. She rolled out the sleeping sack she’d been assigned next to Roe’s bag, and got in.

Though she started somewhere towards the edge of the group, by the time everyone settled, she’d migrated to the center.

Lipton managed to put himself near enough that she could hear him breathing.

Of course, Eve noticed her centrally located position with some skepticism. She didn’t quite understand the gesture, but she was too tired to fight it, so she fell asleep to the sound of German burb guns and drunken Kraut hollering, like they were a bunch of kids throwing a party, like they’d won something.

Eve knew better. They hadn’t come all this way across the ocean, hadn’t survived two years under Sobel’s sadistic purview, to give up now. They’d just got here. Easy Company and the Allies were in France to stay.

Eve went to sleep that night to the sound of Roe’s gentle lilt reciting prayers nearly but not quite drowning out the constant explosions, and surrounded by a Company of men who she had never thought would accept her. She was immensely grateful that they had.

She may have cried a little when she realized they’d encircled her to protect her from the other men when she woke up sometime in the early dawn. If anyone noticed, and she didn’t think anyone did, no one said anything about it.

Eve had survived her first day in combat. She hadn’t shaken or faltered under pressure. And she was so grateful that she’d earned her place beyond any shadow of doubt. Now she just had to continue to prove her worth. It was an endless job, but she was up for it.

-End Chapter-

-Outtake-

Eve was leaving the medical tent when she caught sight of Guarnere bickering with a supply officer, Bull Randleman standing menacingly in the background. She wandered closer and took stock of the situation.

It seemed like her fellow sergeants were trying to barter for some extra supplies that Easy was badly in need of, but not authorized to take.

“Come on, Sergeant,” wheedled Guarnere. “I just need a belt of ammo for our machine gun. My friend’s the one who wants the bandages and the morphine, what’ll it take to change your mind?”

Eve walked over, and saw what Bull and Bill had laid out for trade. There was a Luger there, (where they’d found one, and more over how they’d kept it a secret, was anyone’s guess) two chocolate bars, and a dozen or so packets of those Charms Candy things.

No smokes, though, thought Eve.

It wasn’t that neither of them smoked, or even that neither one had them to trade, but now that they were in France cigarettes were worth their weight in gold. Everybody seemed to want them, and no one seemed to have any they were willing to part with.

Eve dug into her bag and figured the bandages alone was worth the hit to her stock pile. She tossed in three cartons of smokes to sweeten the deal in their favor.

“What about now?” she said.

Guarnere looked up in surprise, but his eyes quickly snapped to the reconsidering supply officer.

The supply Sergeant seemed to weigh his prize against the shit he would get for misplacing the items they wanted. “Deal.”

Randleman clapped her on the shoulder and requisitioned her as part pack mule to help tow their prize back to Easy’s assembly area. Eve grabbed the box of bandages she’d been coveting for Roe if he ever came out of the medic tent, and let the men grab the boxes of morphine and ammo.

“Thanks, Buchanan,” said Guarnere.

“You’re welcome,” she said. And that was that.

-End Outtake-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happen on Thursdays!


	12. Carentan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company took out the guns at Brecourt Manor on D-Day.
> 
> "The most dangerous leadership myth is that leaders are born – that there is a genetic factor to leadership. That's nonsense; in fact, the opposite is true. Leaders are made rather than born." — Warren Bennis
> 
> Now: The fight for France continues as Easy Company get's assigned to clear the town of Carentan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Atman, Laura001, Aniset, and Helianza were generous enough to donate their time to making this awesome. All the love goes out to them.

-Chapter 12-

Floyd Talbert was exhausted, but he pushed on, leading his small band of Easy Company men to the town where the rest of their company was rumored to be.

The drop had been a total SNAFU – situation normal: all fucked up. The paratroopers had been scattered throughout the French countryside and dropped in amongst total strangers. They’d banded together, relying on their training to fight as small, self sufficient armies until they could reunite with their proper units once again.

He’d been fortunate to land with Shifty and Gordon from his stick. They’d ended up fighting with the five-oh-deuce, taking on the Nazi’s in a number of skirmishes. But Tab always kept his ears open, searching for the 506, for Easy Company.

Fighting with another company felt strange. There was enough similarity in everyone’s training that it smoothed a lot of the rough edges, but there was still a marked difference between them. The men in the 502nd tried, but they weren’t in as good physical shape as the standard he was used to with Easy, who could march 25 miles without a hitch. The 502 men tired easily; they couldn’t maneuver well in the dark; they weren’t as confident as Easy was; it was these and several other small, frustrating, things that made him fiercely long for his own Company.

When the 502nd finally started filling out with its own soldiers, Talbert knew it was time to strike out and find Easy Company.

Secretly, he feared that the whole company had been wiped out before they’d managed to jump, the planes with the rest of Easy Company shot from the sky still carrying his friends. There was still burning wreckage of downed C47s littering the countryside as they hiked through, evidence of the possibility.

So, when he found Blithe in a clearing, staring up at the sun, and obviously in shock, it had been both a relief, and a sock to the gut. Surely, Blithe wasn’t disoriented from surviving where no one else from Easy had?

It was a relief when he realized the man was just by himself. There’d been no battle that he’d missed, no chance that Easy had engaged the enemy without him and been wiped out for lack of their help, only evidence that everyone was just as scattered about as he was.

He pushed them on. Into and out of towns as they searched, following rumors and hearsay as they chased the advancing Allied line. Knowing Easy Company, they’d be on the spearhead of the advance. They just had to catch up.

Talbert almost thought he was imagining the spade marked helmets over familiar faces strewed around the sides of the roads and the square when they strolled into another town with another incomprehensible French name.

They’d found them.

“Hey, fellas,” said Talbert, leading the group of four into town with a swagger in his step and a grin stretching his face for the first time since England.

"Well, look who decided to show up, _Floyd_!" drawled George Luz, teasing, with a huge grin on his mug as he beat out all others to shake Tab’s hand first. That was Luz, all right, friendly to the bone.

“I thought we’d never find you guys,” said Tab, all but sagging with relief as his eyes swept over Easy Company, lingering on his unharmed friends. He let the shard of fear in his breast ebb away.

“Get a load of this.” Liebgott butted in front of Talbert’s elbow, brandishing a Nazi flag. It was plain that he’d exhausted his previous audience and was eager to brag to someone who wouldn’t gripe about seeing it a thousand times before. “You like that?”

Talbert grinned and reached into his pocket to pull out his own prize. Unfurling it with a snap, he let Easy Company admire his confiscated Kraut poncho.

“Whoa! Nice!” cried Luz with enough appreciation to satisfy him. “That’s a beauty!”

Hoobler watched them with envy, and said “My Luger’s going to put you all to shame when I get it!”

The rest of First Platoon came to welcome them. Talbert spent a few minutes shaking hands with men he hadn’t seen since they’d split up for different planes. A few guys waved from their coveted seats around a stone edifice in the center of the square that had been erected to honor the dead of the last great European conflict, ironically naming it “war to end all wars”. Blithe had already made his way over and had settled in next to Perconte and Dukeman, and there was Martin, looking cool and calm, propped up against the monument with his usual nonchalance.

His eyes kept moving, checking off names from the list in his head. _Someone is missing,_ he thought, eyes still tracking over familiar faces, smiling in greeting as his eyes caught theirs and then moved on.

A flash sunlight off auburn hair caught his attention. A figure was sprawled out across the entryway of a shop of some kind, leaning back against the door frame. _Buchanan_.

A breath he hadn’t known he was holding left his chest. She’d survived.

She wasn’t sitting with the other men, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. Ev often held herself off to the sidelines – a remnant of bygone days at Toccoa where everyone was still getting used to the idea of a girl in their ranks. It seemed odd that she was falling back on that habit.

She’d been better about mingling with the men once they’d arrived in England. While Tab had never disliked her before, he’d discovered in the last few months that he genuinely enjoyed the woman’s company – especially when she forgot to be polite and let her inner wise ass out to play.

“Whatcha lookin’ at there, Tab?” asked Luz, following Talbert’s gaze to the reclining girl. “Ah.”

Tab looked at his friend. “She make the jump okay?”

“Yeah,” replied Luz. “From what I hear, she met up with Winters and helped take out four Kraut guns on D-Day. Not a scratch on her.”

“No shit?” said Tab, surprised. Though he tried, he just couldn’t imagine Ev in a firefight. He supposed he’d need to see it for himself to believe it.

“Apparently,” said Luz, clearly not quite believing it himself. He clapped Tab on the shoulder, and changed the subject. “Let’s go find you some booze. The French left all kinds of hooch around, just waiting for us to take it off their hands.”

Tab grinned at the crazy radioman. “Sounds good.”

-

Eve had found a stoop, out of the vicinity of the rowdy boys, and planted herself there. She was well within sight of the guys, but she wasn’t really interested in ruining the tentative peace she’d so recently achieved by trying to be sociable.

The past few days had been long ones. Eve felt like she’d been bouncing from one fight to the next. Compared to the bustle of basic training – where there was always something to do – Eve found war to be long periods of waiting, sparsely studded with moments of panic and adrenaline. Easy Company had joined a larger force, including the rest of the 506, in pushing the fleeing Germans off the coastline to make a foothold for the Allies to take back France. The local guerilla forces were invaluable as they pointed out targets and strangleholds along the coast that needed to be addressed.

A commotion at the center square drew her attention. Talbert had arrived. Shifty and Gordon too.

When they’d taken the guns at Brecourt Manor, there hadn’t been enough of Easy Company to fill one platoon, let alone the three that usually made up a company. That had changed. Day and night, the missing members of Easy Company were trickling in. It didn’t seem to matter that the company was always on the move. No matter where Easy was stationed, her soldiers followed rumors and gossip trails back to where they belonged.

It was always worth celebrating when a man wandered in to camp, one less name on the missing or killed in action list.

A consequence of the sporadic and unpredictable arrivals was that the squads were constantly scrambled around due to the shortage and then influx of men. Eve’s squad, when enough men had arrived to fill it, had been placed under Welsh’s purview in First Platoon once the man arrived. Buck had taken charge of Second Platoon since Winters was leading the company; but neither Winters nor Eve saw any reason to switch her squad back to Second again when most of the people initially arriving were from the original Second Platoon as well.

By default of first-come, first-serve, the men in Eve’s squad included Liebgott – who was back to being a rifleman now that more machine gunners had shown up – Hoobler, Sisk, Perconte, and Lesniewski.

Eve watched the newcomers show off their loot, snorting when she heard Hoobler's boast about getting a Luger. Sure, they were supposed to be fantastic guns, but after watching Malarkey try and get himself killed looking for one on D-Day, she didn't really see the appeal.

She hoped Hoobler had more sense than Malarkey did. She'd gotten to know "Hoobs" a lot better now that he was in her squad. In Toccoa, he'd been in Bull's squad, so she hadn't had much occasion to associate with the man, but she already had him pegged as being an asset to her squad. He was an enthusiastic soldier and a good-natured guy, even if he did have a tendency to keep count of the Germans he'd killed in a fight like he was trying to beat his own best score.

She shook the thought out of her head, deciding that it was something she’d never understand about men.

Eve didn’t think she’d ever be able to loot the dead for souvenirs, even if they were the enemy.

She may have refrained from taking tokens off the dead, but even Eve had a few small trinkets tucked into her bag, guilty of lifting particularly appealing trappings from the French houses she’d cleared. She might regret it later, especially the extra weight – because she definitely had enough shit to haul around without adding to it – but it was an impulsive decision that she couldn’t bring herself to regret. And anyway, they were miles away from those houses now, even if she wanted to return what she’d taken.

The last of the newcomers, Blithe, caught her eye as he moved to sit down. _He doesn't look too good_ , she thought, watching him stumble, dazed and confused, towards the monument First had claimed as their roost. He kept squinting at the sky, voice barely audible as he spoke with Perconte and Dukeman.

She frowned, worried about him. He'd never been so timid in training. Soft spoken, yes, but she remembered him as one of the more gung-ho guys at Toccoa. She'd had Blithe in her squad a couple of times back in Aldbourne, and they'd gotten along. He was a good soldier when he had orders to follow, but he’d never looked so lost before.

She tucked the thought into the back of her mind. She'd keep an eye out for him when they moved out. Eve closed her eyes, determined to try and get some shut eye while they weren't moving, now that the commotion was over.

It felt like only a moment before she was jolted from her doze.

“Come on, Sergeant,” said Welsh, kicking the toe of Eve's boot. “On your feet.”

She blinked her eyes open at him, squinting through the sunlight that had moved to glare directly in her eyes.

“Heading out, sir?” she asked as she stood up, dusting off her backside as though it would make any difference to the state of her ODs. They'd been in the same clothes for five days now, and they weren't getting any cleaner.

“Yep, Carentan,” replied Welsh. He took a swig from his canteen. Eve figured it was something stronger than water with the way he grimaced as it went down.

He offered her a drink with a sly smirk. It was pretty well known that she didn't drink alcohol, but Welsh figured as a lady, she’d just never had the opportunity. He and Nixon had taken it upon themselves to rectify this, especially since they were in the middle of France – booze central. Eve smiled at him, sugar sweet, and declined. Welsh shrugged, holding back a laugh, as though to say ‘suit yourself,’ and took another swig.

"Sir?" she said, deciding to address the issue of Blithe while she could. Welsh would be better at watching the private than she would.

"What is it?"

"You might want to keep an eye on Private Blithe. He didn't look so good when he came into town."

Welsh looked at her, probably trying to gage how seriously he should take her concern. He nodded, deciding it couldn't hurt to look out for the man.

He moved to stand right next to her. Eve turned her head, wondering if he wanted something when he bellowed: “LET'S GO FIRST PLATOON!” without warning. She cursed and rubbed at her ringing ears. As though mortar fire wasn't bad enough, this ass was trying to deafen her. He took another swig of his canteen and shouted again, “EASY'S MOVING OUT! ON YOUR FEET!” She rubbed her ear again, and he grinned, incredibly amused by her grumbling.

She glared at him and moved out to join the assembling men who seemed to appear from the woodwork as they converged on the Lieutenant. “Listen up!” called Welsh now that most of the boys had gathered in front of him. “It'll be dark soon. I want light and noise discipline from here on. No talking, no smoking, and no playing grab-fanny with the man in front of you, Luz!”

Eve chuckled quietly as Welsh tried to lighten the suddenly heavy mood. _Off to combat again_ , Eve thought, holding down the weird mix of excitement and dread that tried to cloud her mind.

“So where we headed to Lieutenant, huh?” someone asked as Eve found a space between Talbert and Luz and faced the Lieutenant. They’d join up into squads as they marched or when it was needed. At the moment they were moving as an entire platoon, so she didn’t necessarily need to stand with her squad. She did anyway, but she didn’t have to.

“We’re taking Carentan,” said Welsh, readjusting his bags and replacing his canteen.

“That sounds like fun,” Hoobler commented dryly, half-bitching, half-joking, from where he stood on her left.

“It’s the only place where armor from Omaha and Utah Beach can link up and head inland. Until we take Carentan they’re stuck on the sand. General Taylor’s sending the whole division.”

Luz snorted, and then grinned, beginning an imitation of General Taylor’s promise from before they’d dropped: "Remember boys," he said in a deep, drawling voice, eyes rolling, "give me three days and three nights of hard fighting, and you _will_ be relieved."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. _Some joke that was_ , Eve thought. Even Welsh was smiling.

Hoobler stepped forward, raising his hand. “Lieutenant? Lieutenant, I’ll take point.”

“Corporal Hoobler will be lead scout,” said Welsh, pulling his gun over his shoulder. “Blithe, glad you could join us,” said Welsh, already taking Eve’s advice to heart.

Eve reached out and patted Blithe on his shoulder as he said, “Thank you, sir.”

“First Platoon, fall in behind Fox Company. You people from Second and Third Platoons, follow us. Shake a leg.”

Eve fell in behind Alley as they moved out, head down as she convinced her aching feet to keep going. Once she got started it wouldn’t be so bad, but the first few steps after not enough rest were murder.

“Another thing to remember boys: flies spread disease,” said Luz, pitched again as General Taylor. “So, keep yours closed.” Eve rolled her eyes, but laughed along with the rest of them. It felt good to laugh.

-

They walked for hours. Easy Company’s First, Second, and Third Platoons followed Fox Company through the flooded fields towards Carentan. It was well after dark. They meandered through the dry banks, the glow of still burning shells from bombed out vehicles and carriages lighting their path. The pop of gunfire, which earlier in the day had made them all flinch, went unnoticed as they navigated through the burning remains, hoping that there weren’t any Germans waiting to take advantage of their illuminated silhouettes.

They passed countless dead, some German, some animal, some Americans. Eve even caught sight of a few mohawks. Perconte had plenty of opportunity to pilfer more watches, enough so that he started getting choosy about whether or not they still worked.

Perconte had chosen to walk up front with Hoobler – trading Luz to be the radio operator stuck with the CO for the night march.

At present, they’d stopped yet again, crouching in the mud for the mosquitoes to feast on at their leisure.

"Hey, Perco, why'd we stop?" Luz asked Perconte as he came walking down the line.

"We lost F Company," he replied.

"What, again?"

Eve rolled her eyes in frustration. They were wasting time exposed out here, because some ass in Fox hadn’t remembered their training.

It had been happening all night. Sobel had had Easy Company, including the officers, run so many night operations that Eve actually felt like she could navigate better in the dark than in the daylight sometimes. They’d done dozens of forced night marches cross-country, through the woods at night, encountering every conceivable problem facing troop movements.

But not every company had been cursed with an over enthusiastic officer like Sobel, so there was a lot of waiting. Fox Company constantly left Easy in the dust, which meant there was a lot of bitching. Fox would reach a blockage in the road, something that required they go through one at a time, and then, once they passed it, raced on ahead without waiting for the other companies to make it through the same blockage too. It caused a stop – start that was as irritating as it was dangerous because it caused gaps in the line that the Krauts could slip through.

It was a result of the officers neglecting to do their own night training. Instead of curbing the men’s desire to rush forward, the way they were supposed to, they gave into it themselves – trying to make better time and really, just slowing everyone down. They’d probably delegated all of their night training exercises to their NCOs, so while the men were capable in the dark, the same could not necessarily be said of the officers.

Every time they lost Fox, they had to send scouts forward to relocate the wayward F Company and tell them to wait. Fox Company then bitched about how slow Easy was, and everyone was in a bad fucking mood.

Battalion Company giving orders to dig in and set up their machine guns for the night, only to change their mind and get everybody up and moving out again moments later didn’t help the mood.

Eve watched Winters and Nix move up the line, presumably to find F for themselves. If they did find the missing company, she hoped they gave that useless F third platoon leader what for. This was the fourth time they’d lost their sister company in the six hours they’d been walking.

Since they were still on light and noise discipline, there wasn't much to do other than sit or crouch. Eve did so, taking advantage of the small respite the little hold-up offered. They’d been walking for a good six hours. She was tired, but it didn’t look like they were going to be stopping anytime soon.

It was entirely too soon when the word was passed down the line that they’d found F and the little break was over. _That’s okay_ , Eve thought. _I didn’t want to bed down in a swamp anyway._

Eve and nearly every soldier in Easy was scared half to hell by the German paratrooper who had died propped up against a tree, eyes still open and staring vacantly forward. _Shit_ , she thought, grateful she had somehow managed to keep the curse in. As she got her breathing under control, she noticed the dead man was wearing a white flower in his lapel. It seemed like a strange token for a soldier to wear in such a prominent place, but she put the oddity from her mind.

She was much more vigilant after that, straining her eyes in the dark, so she wouldn’t get another nasty surprise.

-

When they finally reached the town of Carentan it was already full light thanks to the assholes in F who’d wasted all of their collective time charging ahead. Eve was just grateful to see another dawn, despite having been behind enemy lines for a week now.

They’d laid out a rough plan for taking the town of Carentan. Easy was the main attack force, with F and D in support. First Platoon was going in hard and fast up the road into town. They were crouched behind the crest of the hill, divinely placed right before town. Second and Third would follow them in, and they were just waiting for Winters to call high-noon, so they could commence with the attack.

Finally, Winters looked up from his watch and hissed, “Go!” to Welsh.

Welsh turned to his men.

“Let’s go First!” Welsh whispered, and got up running, Luz close on his heels. It was the radio man’s job to always be with the CO, and Lt. Welsh was the kind of man who led from the front.

Winters moved down the tactical columns, sending them forward, saying, “Go! Go, go!”

Eve was crouched with her squad halfway down the incline that hid them from the German lookouts no doubt hiding on the roofs in town. As Winters passed, she got to her feet and started moving them forward. They moved towards the city at an easy trot.

Machine gun fire burst to life and pinned them back to the hill. Eve watched from where she’d dove into the ditch at the side of the road as her CO and Luz dove behind the first building on the left.

“Incoming!" Winters screamed as another gun opened up, pouring hot lead over their position, spitting up dirt in its wake.

“You’re in the open for Christ’s sake!” screamed Nixon from his place observing the battle with Colonel Strayer.

Eve glanced up, helmet low on her head. _Fuck this_! She was not gonna be a goddamn sitting duck. If she were about to die then she was going to take as many Krauts with her as she could.

Winters was running up and down the road, screaming at the men, “Get yourselves out of those trenches!”, kicking some when they didn’t move. Eve was the first one up, her squad rallying behind her quickly, following her lead.

Bullets snapped around her as she started running as fast as she could for the town and cover. Ahead, she saw Welsh break cover and toss a grenade right through the window at the machine gun operator while he was occupied with reloading. _That was pretty fucking amazing_ , she thought as she hit a wall, Sisk only half a second behind her.

“Start clearing the houses!” she ordered, “Liebgott, Alley, the right! Lesniewski, Perconte, left! Hoobler, Luz go!” She sent Hoobler to help Luz, who’d been abandoned by Welsh to clear some houses, relegated to a rifleman under the threat of the Germans rallying. Under fire this heavy, they needed every gun hand they could get.

Hoob darted across the street like a crazy person to reach Luz, who was still awaiting orders from Welsh where machine gun used to be before Welsh blew them hell.

“Sisk!” she called, making sure he was still with her. “Stick with me!”

“Covering fire!” she said. Sisk nodded and leaned around her to squeeze of suppressing fire so the others were free to move. She popped off a few rounds as well and then slapped Sisk on the arm as she ran for better cover, moving quickly to the intersection straight ahead, Sisk hot on her tail. She watched the street as they combed the buildings for hiding Krauts.

She scanned the town, spotting Easy guys as she went, trying to see who needed help. She saw Shifty picking off snipers through windows of a factory at his leisure, as though they were sitting in a wide-open field. Hoobler, Luz, Liebgott and Alley had started making sweeps of the houses on the other side of the street. Roe flung his body over a downed trooper as a mortar blast hit the street next to him. She watched above for sniper barrels, blasting any suspiciously moving curtains.

It was organized chaos. And then there was the unmistakable whine and boom of heavy mortar fire. 

Sergeant Lipton, somehow on the third floor of the factory fire escape, started screaming. “Spread it out! Spread it out! Get off the street!” he screamed. “The Krauts got us zeroed!”

Eve sent Sisk ahead and ran to get to cover, yanking guys out of the street as she passed, towing them to buildings where they had less chance of taking direct hits from those big guns. Eve found a corner that offered some concealment and started hunting, eyes peeled again for snipers in the upper story windows. She was looking for muzzle flashes or rifle tips; and peppered any windows that showed signs of either. Sisk slapped her shoulder, indicating a building he wanted to check. She saw that he had picked up More to go with him, and nodded. They were off, leaving her alone.

Lieutenant Compton sent Second Platoon into the fray in organized lines that soon scattered. Eve held her fire to wait for them to get past her line of sight, then provided covering fire while they were out in the open, blasting the walls around the still operational machine gun pits.

A shell landed across the street from her. A third platoon guy she didn’t know well got his leg blown off. Bull got there before she finished shooting the German she had lined up in her sights, picking up the man and tossing him over his shoulder. He hauled himself and the wounded man out of there, back towards their entry point and relative safety behind the lines.

She saw Lipton, directing guys like a fucking traffic cop out in the middle of the goddamn road, get hit with an 88 shell. She traced the relative trajectory and aimed at the gun squad, injuring one Kraut and scattering the others. She picked off a few more and then turned to check on Lip. Talbert was already with him, helping him stand and then getting him out of the fray.

Eve caught sight of a rifle barrel sticking out of a second story window, aimed at a priest giving last rights to the soldiers lying dead and wounded in the street – both Germans and Americans. _Ballsy guy_. Eve aimed and fired. The rifle fell out of view.

“Mortars!” Skip Muck yelled, from somewhere off to her right.

A glass window shattered in front of Eve. She bowed her head, covering her face. Glass bit into her neck, bouncing off her helmet. Another whistle screamed overhead and Eve found herself flipping ass over teakettle. She slammed into the ground. Her vision went grey. She turned her head, blinking, trying to get the ringing in her ears to stop. Debris rained down on her, hot to the touch.

“Shit! Ev! Ev!” Muck called.

Skip and Malarkey ran over, and dragged Eve out of the street by her shirt’s shoulder straps, propping her up against a building. _So that’s what those are for_ , she thought deliriously.

“I’m all right. Am I all right?” she asked, looking at them, dazed. She looked down at herself; there was a golf ball sized piece of shrapnel in her right bicep. That was gonna hurt like a bitch in a minute.

“You’re gonna be fine, doll,” said Malarkey, looking at her as though God had touched her.

A bullet whizzed right by her head. “Then get back to shooting!” she said, as she tried to haul her own rifle back up into a firing position.

They laughed at her in relief and moved off. She got to her feet and tried to take aim, but her arm protested so violently that she couldn’t hold up her M1. Reassessing, she spotted Blithe, looking dazed in a covered corner on the opposite side of the street staring blankly at nothing, mouth open in shock. _Fuck_.

Hoping to God he wasn’t wounded too badly, she braced herself and then ran to him. Hitting the wall hard because she hadn’t bothered to slow down, she asked, “You okay there, Blithe?”

He whipped his head around, but his eyes couldn’t focus on her.

“I can’t see,” he whispered. A tear traced down his cheek. “I can’t see anything.”

Eve glanced around; they had fair cover here, but if he’d hit his head or something to cause the blindness, then they needed an aid station. Now.

“Okay,” she said as much to him as to herself, “Blithe, I’m gonna help you stand, and I want you to put your arm around my neck okay? I’ll help you. We’re gonna find the aid station together, okay?”

He nodded and raised an arm. She towed him up and slung it around her, guiding him to where the rest of the wounded were heading. Her arm throbbed as his hand bumped it, but she swallowed the bile it raised and kept going. She could vomit later.

-

Eve saw that apart from being a little dark, this restaurant-come-aid station was a lot different than the one she’d been in on D-Day. It was still clean for one, the stench of decaying blood not haunting the air nearly as badly, though the copper tang still burned her nose. She’d never cared for the smell of blood. There were still plenty of groaning men with pieces torn out of them, but they seemed mostly taken care of, just waiting for evac.

Doc Roe found them immediately as they entered. She supposed he’d beat them there on a jeep with a more severely wounded patient.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, taking Blithe from her shoulder and sitting him down on a bed to look at, assuming that he was the most injured because he was the one being supported.

“He can’t see,” she answered.

Roe looked at her and took off Blithe’s helmet. There was no blood inside. He found a flashlight and shined it in Blithe’s eyes. The pupils didn’t react.

“Okay,” said Roe, “you’re okay soldier.” Roe looked at Eve and spied the shrapnel in her arm and the mess of her helmet “I need this bed to look at Sergeant Buchanan, I’m gonna get you set up on the ground in a corner, Blithe. We’ll see about getting you off the line.” Roe easily maneuvered the blind man to the ground.

“What’s wrong with him?” whispered Eve as Roe led her to a bed so he could get a look at her arm.

“Hysterical blindness. Sometimes, when the eyes see too much, the brain shuts ‘em off to deal with it,” answered Roe as she sat. “Now, let me get a look at that arm.” She pulled it out away from her body so he could get a hand to steady it. “The cuts on your neck are already scabbin’ over. Anythin’ wrong with your head?” She tugged her helmet off with her left hand and checked the lining. Nothing.

“You’re lucky,” he said, taking it to verify the clean inside, “I’ve seen a lot of people with peppered helmets a lot worse off ‘n you today.” He handed it back to her. “Let’s get this arm fixed up.” He turned her bicep so he could see it more clearly. She hissed as the rotation caused the hunk of scrap to dig a little deeper into her flesh.

“Well you got a piece of something,” he said, gently working the sharp metal free. Once it was gone, the wound started bleeding sluggishly. Already a fair bit soaked her coat, not that she’d noticed. Roe used the scissors he kept in his breast pocket to slit the fabric so he could get a better look. “Just a little thing. Let’s get some stitches in it.” Eve looked away as he added six precise sutures, trying to ignore the tugging pull on her skin. “Okay,” he said when he was done. He poured sulfa powder onto it, which burned and felt like salt nuggets and then added a pressure bandage. She winced when he cinched it tight, but for some odd reason the added pressure reduced the throbbing.

“Will Blithe be okay?” she asked, her eyes straying to the blonde she’d dragged here.

Roe looked up at her, and found her eyes. “He’ll be fine, _chérie_. He just needs to sit a spell and get off the line.”

Lieutenant Winters came limping in as Roe tied the knot to keep the bandage in place. “Make sure you put your name in for a Purple Heart before you head back out,” said Roe. Eve smiled at him.

She nodded at the lieutenant, who was watching her, before hopping off the table so the Doc could work. Winters was staring at the helmet she hadn’t bothered picking up yet. She grabbed it and smiled at him tightly, still feeling the twinge as the new scabs on her face pulled.

She walked over to Blithe and knelt down in front of him, “Hey, Blithe?” She waited until he was facing her. “The guys need me back out there. You’ll be okay here with Doc Roe. He’ll take good care of you, all right?”

He nodded, still in a daze. She gave his arm a pat, and then went to find the clerk in charge of the Purple Heart list. She put her name in, more so that Roe wouldn’t come after her when he found out she didn’t than because she actually wanted the thing.

Lieutenant Compton came in. “Hey, Buchanan,” he said, looking surprised to find her there. “You all right?”

“I’m fine, sir, just caught a piece of shrapnel in my arm. Did you need something sir?” she asked.

“Yeah, you seen Lieutenant Winters?”

“Sure, he’s over there with Doc Roe.” She pointed at the two men to make sure Buck saw them.

“Thanks,” he said with a nod. She slipped out of the depressing place and went back out to join the guys.

Luz was the first one to make note of – and then make fun of – her bandage. “What? They got you? And you, without even the decency to stay down.”

“Shut it, Luz,” she said and went to find her wayward squad. She needed to make sure they were all right now that she’d seen to Blithe and herself.

“No, really,” he said coming closer, Muck, Guarnere, and Malarkey following him. “Did you get hit in the arm or something?”

“Just a bit of shrapnel. Must a pissed off a building or something,” she said, dodging him as he tried to poke at it. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!” she snarled as Luz jabbed a finger at it, nearly falling over backwards trying to recoil. “You guys seen my squad?” she asked.

“I think they’re with Lipton’s squad,” said Malarkey.

“Thanks,” she said and wandered off.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Guarnere as he whapped Luz in the shoulder. Luz had scared her off again.

“What?” he asked, confused and a little hurt by Eve’s dismissal of him. He’d thought they were past her dislike of him. _What’s her problem?_

“You should’a seen her,” Muck said. “Cool as anything just picking Gerrys off one by one. Nearly gave me a heart attack when she went flying through the air like that, but no, she just pops back up and keeps popping ‘em off.”

Toye, who’d come over to check in with Guarnere in time to hear their conversation, just shrugged and muttered somewhat admiringly, “Who’d a thought?” as they watched her go.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are scheduled for Thursdays. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	13. Bloody Gulch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then: Easy Company takes Carentan with few casualties, and minor wounds. 
> 
> “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” – Ernest Hemingway 
> 
> Now: Easy finds the German forces that were supposed to be defending Carentan in an open field and fight to hold the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, Atman. Thank you all for working so hard on this.

-Chapter 13-

Eve found her squad – minus Liebgott who was who knows where right now – a little worse for wear, but all smiling happily at her – which she didn’t understand, but set aside.

Her first order of business was making sure they’d all been resupplied. After making sure they’d all found enough ammo – Eve nodded.

“Go find some chow,” she ordered, already digging into one of her pockets for her own stashed rations bar. She shed her webbing and held it while she decided whether or not she wanted to eat one of her chocolate bars. The tinkling of the metal bits on her webbing in her shaking hand decided her. She pulled out a mostly wax bar, unwrapping it one handed with her teeth and biting off a chunk.

Looking up, her squad was still staring at her, making no move to find their own rations in favor of watching her. She gave them another – more confused – nod, worriedly wondering why they were still staring at her. Disquieted, she wandered off to find a place to eat her chocolate in peace, and maybe sack out for a bit with her webbing or perhaps a mussette bag as a pillow. That sounded nice.

After a bit of wandering around the town, she finally decided on a spot to sit: the wide steps leading up to the church.

Eve stretched out as planned, the sun warmed stone more than making up for the lack of a blanket. She closed her eyes in bliss and let out a sigh, relaxing deeper into the stone as the last of the tense energy bled from her and into the warm steps.

Just as she was about to doze off, suddenly, people started appearing next to her. Muck and Malarkey came over first, with Penkala on their heels, and then Blithe, who had apparently regained his sight. Alton More also came to sit with them. He was a machine gunner with a pensive disposition, a strong jaw, and a smoking habit.

Eve, her eyes still closed but no longer holding any hope for a nap, listened as the guys began shooting the shit and passing out rumors they’d heard about the officers and what was going on in the war. Eve did her best to ignore them. They didn’t seem to mind.

“Berlin by Christmas, that’s what I think,” said More.

“Yeah, well you’re full of it,” replied Malark.

“Ugh!” cried Muck. He’d been squirting a tube of Kraut ration cheese into his mouth. “This Kraut cheese, it tastes-” he glanced at Eve, who’d opened her eyes at his exclamation in concern. He couldn’t find a polite word to use, and gave up with a laugh. “Well, it stinks!”

“Bread’s stale too,” griped Penkala, passing the brown flattened bread back to Muck who took it with a “gimme that!” and began to smear the cheese on the flat bread.

Eve closed her eyes again, with a slight smile. Watching those three was always entertaining.

“Yes sir, the way we came into town today and took over, you know it doesn’t seem like Gerry’s got too much fight left in ‘im.”

“Hey, More,” cautioned Malarkey, “Don’t get hit in the face when Gerry throws in the sponge, all right?”

More laughed. “Mark my words, Mal. Berlin by Christmas.”

Eve smiled. That would sure be nice, even if it seemed a little too hopeful. The invasion had barely started, after all.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said a voice. Eve looked a long way up to see Lieutenant Speirs had come over and was staring down at them.

“Sir?” she asked, looking up at him with a hand over her eyes, not as a salute, but so she didn’t have to squint. He politely shifted so that his head blocked the sun from hitting her eyes.

He focused on her. “We’ll be moving out soon.” She nodded and rolled to a sitting position. She tucked away her trash, grabbed her ammo and gear from where she’d been using it as a pillow, and started to get to her feet. Her arm quivered so much she had to do it one-handed, but she made it up with only a wince to show for it. She didn’t want anyone thinking she needed to be evacuated or some shit. As long as she was still able to fight, she would.

“Out of town, Lieutenant? Already?” asked More.

Speirs shifted his piercing gaze from watching Eve gear up, noting her right arm was giving her trouble and filing the injury away, to stare at More. “That’s right,” he drawled, imposing.

Penkala stood up to get out of his way.

“Don’t they know we’re just getting settled here?” asked More around a cigarette, his tone resentful.

Speirs, who had been walking away, paused to stare back at the soldier and remember his face. Eve shook her head. Pissing off officers, even if they weren’t from your company, wasn’t smart. Her opinion of More fell.

“Nice going, Groucho,” said Muck as Speirs went out of earshot.

“What?” asked More.

“Real smart,” Muck continued, impressed that More hadn’t been shot for his mouth with the kind of rumors that had been floating around about the officer. “You’re taking your life in your own hands, ain’t that right?” he said, nodding at Malarkey significantly.

“I told you, I didn’t actually see it,” said Malark, looking away.

“What, Speirs shooting prisoners or the sergeant in his own Platoon?” said Penkala.

“What? I didn’t hear that!” said Muck.

Eve didn’t want to hear this. She tried to figure out how to get down the stairs without stepping on someone.

“Sergeant?” asked Malarkey loudly; he hadn’t heard this particular rumor yet, “He shot one of his own guys?”

“No way!” said More.

Penkala ate a slice of his apple, using his trench knife as a fork, and chewed it while he explained, “Well, supposedly the guy was drunk and refused to go on a patrol. Of course, who knows if it’s true.”

Eve finally gave up trying to find a polite way down and stepped between the splayed legs and vulnerable hands.

“Where you going, Ev?” asked Malarkey.

“To find my squad,” she said distractedly, dusting of her hands once she’d made it to the ground. She nodded to the guys and left them behind, already thinking of the things she’d need to make sure her boys had before they moved out.

-

“Well that was odd,” said Penkala, watching Ev wind her way through the streets. “Do you think it was something we said?”

“I don’t think so,” said Malark. The other men became silent as they each tried to understand what they’d done to offend her. She’d been fine a minute ago, and everyone talked about the officers behind their back. The Army would collapse without the rumors to keep it floating.

“Well I know a guy,” Muck broke the silence by throwing what was left of the stale bread at Malarkey’s head. “Who said an eyewitness told him, that Speirs hosed those prisoners.”

“Why?” asked Blithe, speaking up for the first time. “What for?”

“D-Day,” began Muck. “Speirs came across this group of Kraut prisoners, digging a hole or some such, under guard and all. He breaks out a pack of smokes…”

-

“Hey, Liebgott, you all set to move out?”

Lieb looked up from the spigot he was washing his hands in, trying to get Tipper’s blood out from under his nails, to see Ev smiling down at him, her sharp blue eyes scanning for injuries.

“Sure, Ev,” he said, eyes scanning her the way she was scanning him.

Liebgott froze. Ev’s face and neck were both specked with scrapes and blood. Her helmet was peppered with holes the size of small bullets, but what really caught his attention was the glaring white bandage around her arm, darkening with the red of a newly reopened injury. He disregarded the helmet and the scrapes, they were too minor to be dangerous – and Doc wouldn’t let her outta his sight if she was really injured in the head.

The arm though. _Jesus, I can’t take my eyes off her for one minute! She was fucking fine this morning!_

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, seizing her arm and twisting it to get a better look at the bandage.

Ev winced at the sudden assault on the still bleeding wound and tried to yank the appendage free from Liebgott’s grip. He held on tighter.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, still wincing.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“Ricochet off a building,” she said, scowling at him. “Doc already took care of it.”

He stared at her. “Yeah, well, be more careful next time.”

“You got it,” she said, giving him a cheeky smile as she slipped her arm free. “Nice of you to be so concerned. Are you all set to move? We’re probably heading out soon.”

“Yeah,” he said, lying.

She gave him a look, that “I know you’re lying” look that she’d gotten so good at now that she’s his sergeant. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to make sure the others are prepared as well. Did you eat something?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.”

She laughed. “I am not your mother, Lieb, or I would smack you for your cheek. Get going, kiddo.”

Liebgott laughed and got going. It didn’t take him long before he was ready to move again. He found a conveniently located building, with minimal holes in the walls and roofs, to lean against to wait, where he could see Ev cajoling the rest of his squad into behaving themselves and getting ready.

The respite didn’t last for long before Buck came out of the Aid Station and rallied them to the defense of the town’s flank.

“All right, put out your smokes, pack up your ammo and gear, looks like we’re moving out,” Lieutenant Compton called for Second Platoon.

And then Lieutenant Welsh called, “Let’s go First Platoon, weapons, on me!” as he strode through the town, pitching his voice to be heard. “On your feet! Tactical columns, let’s go!”

-

They were walking across a field east of Carentan; it was the only direction that wasn’t completely flooded, and thus, the only way either they, or the enemy, could access the town. The 506 had stretched out, Easy on the far end of the line, trying to ferret out any pockets of the resistance. Eve was with her squad, marching forward across the empty field, trying to ignore the mosquitoes eating her alive and the continuous haze of rain. She was already soaked through.

They’d been walking for a good few hours before Perconte broke the silence. “Hey, Luz,” he said, “how far we goin’?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Frank,” said Luz in exasperation. “I don’t know. Until they tell us to stop.”

“High ground,” said Hoobler. “There’s high ground up ahead.”

Dry ground meant mobility. They needed to defend Carentan, and right now this way was the only way open to a counterassault. The plan was that they were going to set up defenses to prevent the Krauts from overrunning the town again. Then again, because it was raining, perhaps the high ground would only be dry for so long before it flooded too.

“Yeah. Okay, genius. Answer me this, then: why is Easy Company the only company who’s either at the front of an advance or, like now, exposed at the far edge of the line?”

It was true. It was becoming rote by now for Easy to take up the flank of whatever line they were a part of.

“To keep you on your toes,” answered Hoobler.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that we’re never in the middle, and we’re the fifth of nine companies of this regiment, Able through Item. Think of it.”

“It’s because we’re the best, Perconte,” said Eve, settling it.

“See there? You see—“ Hoobler started again, but MG fire cut him off.

Eve hit the ground, noting the rest of Easy was with her.

“Contact right! Get in the hedgerows!” called Welsh.

Eve belly crawled towards the hedgerow in front of her, getting out of the line of fire. She saw a guy get pierced through the shoulder as he was running, and he hit the ground. She grabbed his shirt and yanked his dead weight behind her, trying to get to cover where he could get a medic if he lived that long. Everyone was scrambling as fast as they could for the meager protection the hedgerow in front of them offered, many others towing their fallen guys along with them like Eve was.

“Right there!” screamed Welsh, pointing out where the enemy contact was coming from. “Stay low!”

They hit the hedges and stayed behind the embankment for their cover. “Luz, get down here with the radio! Sergeant More! On me!” she heard Welsh cry.

“Doc! Medic!” she hollered. Roe came bounding over like a crazy person. He must have been close by to have made it that quickly.

“You hit?” he shouted over the noise. Eve shook her head, and pointed to the man she’d drug, who was moaning beside. Gene didn’t waste a moment. He took the wounded man off her hands. She didn’t have time to thank him. She turned towards the line and started looking for muzzle flashes. There were too many to track.

Eve took a moment to collect herself under cover, and returned fire. Bullets slammed into the ground around her, the dirt they kicked up a familiar sting in her eyes. She ducked down and reloaded, waiting for the Germans to run out themselves before risking returning fire again. The enemy was just as defended as Easy was, though, and Eve couldn’t see if her shots were doing anything at all. Gritting her teeth, Eve dug down and held on.

-

Easy and Gerry traded shots all day while they fortified their positions for the night. As though to spite them, it started raining in earnest, huge drops of water cascading through the trees as the clouds kicked up into monstrous thunderclouds. The crack of lightning and the boom of thunder sounded distinctly different from the exploding boom of mortar fire, but they were similar enough to make Eve flinch every time, certain a shell was coming for their lines, for her hole.

Eve dug out a foxhole, figuring she’d be by herself, and started to get settled, folding up her entrenching tool and fishing for her blanket. She’d had her packs under the standard issue rain protection since the first fat raindrop landed on her shoulder. The trees made the rain worse. Rather than an even, lighter rain, the trees, designed to collect water to pour onto their roots, sent down bigger droplets directly onto the soldiers who’d fortified their roots for shelter. The wind gusted into every crevice of her clothes and stuck to her skin. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. She was settling in for a cold, long, miserable night.

Eve was just about to give up on finding her damned blanket, and resigning herself to getting comfortable without it, when Liebgott slithered in next to her.

“Hey, Lieb,” she said, giving him a soft smile. The one she got in return was strained. It had only been a few hours, but she could see the weariness in the man, like his soul had been hollowed out and just this husk of a man left behind.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, concerned. He shrugged and lit up a smoke.

He didn’t say anything, she didn’t ask. He’d had a hell of a day. Gossip insured that she’d heard all about him finding Tipper, right after the building he was in had been all but demolished in a mortar blast. After seeing the result of similar such injuries, she was glad she hadn’t seen him at the Aid Station today. She couldn’t imagine finding someone like that, immediately after it happened.

Let alone someone like Tipper, who was by all accounts, a good guy. Eve hadn’t known him very well – he’d been in First Platoon – but she heard about some of his more memorable antics.

Tipper, back when they were all under Sobel, somehow always managed to “misplace” equipment Sobel needed after trying to help the man read a map for the third time unsuccessfully. He’d borne the brunt of Sobel’s frustrations when he was lost, and, according to Luz, had been instrumental in the prank with the fence. It wasn’t a way anyone deserved to go out.

Liebgott didn’t say a single word, just solemnly offered her a puff on his smoke. She took one, because it seemed like something he needed her to do, and promptly gagged, coughing raucously as her body tried to violently expel the smoke entering it. He cracked a smile, the ass, and soon was laughing so hard, a hand pressed forcefully to his mouth to stifle the sounds, that tears were pouring down his face. Soon his tears morphed into genuine sobs.

She let him cry without comment, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and let him hide his face in her neck, allowing him the emotional release he desperately needed. She was a woman. She understood how sometimes a good cry was all you needed before you could let go and get back to being yourself. He didn’t make much noise at all, but the trembling he was doing was a large indication that he was not all right by any stretch of the imagination. It only lasted a minute or two before he gathered himself and pulled back. The look he gave her was part gratitude, part threat. She said nothing, and offered him back his cigarette.

He took it back with a halfhearted grin, and leaned against her shoulder, back to the mud wall. The rain quickly washed away any evidence of his momentary emotional instability. Outburst over, they hunkered down and huddled together, trying to stay warm since dry was no longer an option.

The Germans had started singing about an hour ago from across the field. She couldn’t understand any of the words, but the song was unbearably cheerful. It sounded like a drinking song. She listened to the cheerful tunes, one after another, with resentment. Surely they were just as wet and miserable as she was. _What the hell do they have to sing about?_

Talbert came by and asked for Liebgott to take a turn on the line. The man nodded and flicked his unfinished cigarette away. He gave Eve a nod before climbing out of the hole and slipping off into the night.

“Ev, Welsh says to fix bayonets,” said Talbert. Eve nodded and he smiled down at her before wandering away as well. She dug her knife from its sheath on her boot and attached it to her weapon. _God, I hope I don’t have to use it,_ she prayed.

Eve dug into her pack again for her blanket, suddenly freezing now that Liebgott wasn’t next to her, like her own personal furnace. She didn’t bother covering the top of the hole with the rain cover; the water would just come in through the sides. Instead, she used the rain poncho she discovered as both a seat and an over-blanket in addition to her actual blanket for an extra layer against the chill coming off the sea. Before she let herself drift off, Eve pulled her rifle up to her chest, resting the stock on her thigh and resigned herself to having to thaw her hands from around it in the morning.

She’d just got her eyes closed when a startled scream went up, followed by sobs of fear. She heard Liebgott’s voice cry, “Smith! What the hell are you doing? That’s Talbert!”

“Medic!” came a hoarse cry from that direction.

Eve saw Roe bound by. She nearly got out of her hole to investigate, but saw Lipton and Lt. Speirs head that way and then come back after only a few minutes.

Speirs saw her tracking him as he went by her hole, and gave an eerie smile saying, “Everything’s under control.”

She met his eyes for a long moment, and then nodded, dropping his too piercing gaze.

Once she resettled, content to take his word that there was nothing she could do, Eve hugged her gun tight, closed her eyes, and willed sleep to come.

-

The sky was just barely hinting at morning when she woke up the next day. It wasn’t raining any more, thank God. Eve shoved her shit back into her pack, folding the blanket tightly, and taking time to store things properly while she had the chance so everything would fit like it was supposed to. She grabbed her M-1 from where she’d propped against the wall to pack and went to find a place to use the bathroom in private.

It was a long, and somewhat dangerous, walk. If she was up, the Krauts were definitely up too. It took five minutes, but she finally found a bush well enough away from anyone and hurried to finish. She walked back out ready to fight less than a minute later. She made her way to her foxhole just in time to meet Lieutenant Welsh.

“We’re moving out at 0530; get your squad moving,” he said, glad she was up and ready. No one really liked waking her, she’d found, despite the fact that she was generally not a grump in the mornings, days after a hellish thirty mile walk notwithstanding.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Briefing with me in fifteen,” he said. She would need to know what the plan for attack was if she was going to be effective.

“I’ll be there, sir,” she said.

“Good,” Welsh gave her a smile. “See you there.”

Eve started towards where her squad had bedded down, gathering Liebgott, Alley, Hoobler, and Sisk around her. Perco was back with the CO today. She made sure they had plenty of ammo, redistributing it so everyone had roughly the same amount, then put them into position along the line, spreading her men out evenly in the gap between Guarnere’s squad on their left and Martin’s on their right.

The guys fortified their firing positions with branches, using their entrenching tools both as hatchets and to dig into the earth for that much more protection. After just a few minutes, they were as ready as they could be until the attack came. Eve pulled her squad off the temporary line to wait for orders under the better cover of the dense trees that protected them from the German’s sight.

“Hey guys, got any smokes? You want some of this candy shit?”

Eve passed one of her cartons of cigarettes to Liebgott. He’d earned it if the news she’d heard about Talbert was right. Two of his friend, both out of commission, one after another. “Here,” she offered. “Keep your candy.”

He gave her a smile and lit one up. She could tell he was trying not to laugh at her again, though she didn’t know why.

Boyle walked by, his helmet full of ammunition. “The outpost got ammo,” he said around a cigarette. “Take what ya need.”

It had been about fifteen minutes. Eve left her squad to it, reassured they were as prepared as they were going to be and went to go meet with the Lieutenant.

“Sarge?” said Hoobler. She paused to see what he wanted, and he bounded over to her, all eagerness. “Can I come with you?”

She thought it over for a second and then decided, “Why not? Come on, before we’re late.”

She and Hoobler joined Martin, Perconte, and Guarnere on the ground around Welsh and the map.

“We don’t know what they’ve got,” he said, showing them a map of the area and running a finger along the Krauts’ supposed lines. “We may be attacking a weaker force. Possibly more paratroopers.”

“And you know how they can be,” said Hoobler with a knowing grin.

Eve shot him a look – it was rude to interrupt – but Welsh just smiled and continued on. “Fire and maneuver, that’s the name of the game, fire and maneuver.” He closed the map’s protective cover. “Dog and Fox Companies will be on our left flank, moving with us. Any questions?” He looked at each soldier, waiting for a negative head shake. “Let’s make ‘em holler.”

She got back to her guys. Frank Perconte was staring at his pilfered watches. “It’s 9:30 in the evening back home,” he said wistfully. “Must be-“

“Mortar!” someone yelled. Everyone dove for a foxhole.

“Incoming!” Eve shouted at her men. “Everybody in a hole! Take cover!”

She hit the hedgerow and then ran through the cover back to where her squad had set up. She hit the ground and lay on her belly to make herself as little of a target as possible, trying to see where the fire was coming from.

“Get that OP in!” screamed Welsh.

Eve turned her attention to where she knew the outpost was and sent shot after shot in suppressing fire while the men scrambled to retreat from the open field.

There were no infantry targets to speak of, just a constant barrage of mortar fire that snapped the trees above them, sending entire branches crashing down on top of them. Eve groaned as one collapsed onto her thighs. _That’s going to leave a bruise_ , she thought and then ignored it.

Winters ran up the line shouting encouragement. “Watch for silhouettes on the horizon! Find your target! Muzzle flashes!” He shouted over the sound of the incoming shells. “Nail it! Mortar, keep it low! Keep low! Go! Go! Go! Pour it on them!”

Eve kept half an eye on her guys as she poured it on. Every time she finished a clip, her hands shook as she tried to reload as fast as possible. She spared a glance at the line. Her men were in order. Liebgott and Alley dropped Krauts left and right.

“I want fire superiority!” called Winters, directly behind her. “Guarnere! Buchanan! Keep them pinned down!” he said. “Keep firing!”

She spotted movement on the crest of the hill. She could barely make out a German helmet but it was far too tall, and it was far too fast to be a regular trooper. He was mobilized in some way.

 _Please don’t be tanks_ , she prayed. She fired, and the helmet disappeared. Guarnere caught on the same time she did and started signaling while he shouted, “Sergeants, reverse! Cover the crest of that hill!”

 _Goddamn it_.

Over the top of the hill came the tanks, not through the trees but over top of them, Kraut soldiers flanking the heavy armor as it bore down on the 506.

“Where the hell did they come from!” screamed Welsh.

Eve spared a moment to panic – _There’s nothing we can hit those with that’ll stop them_! she thought – and then pushed past it. _At least they’ve finally come out of their holes where I can see them._

Eve lined up a shot at a German riding a tank and pulled the trigger. He fell down into the tank but another Kraut took his place a minute later. She didn’t get the chance to get a bead on him because the dirt behind her exploded. She flattened into the ground, crying out in rage.

When the dirt settled a second later, she popped back up to try and get another one of those bastards.

“Holy shit!” she heard Welsh yell. “There goes our left flank!”

She tuned him out. Her senses fell into a hush as she poured more concentration into her weapon. She took a shot with every breath, reloading blindly and without pause. She could hear her heartbeat, the sound of her rifle, Liebgott’s muddled but steady stream of curses next to her, but nothing else. She didn’t feel the residual ache in her right arm as the gun slammed over and over into her shoulder, nor did she feel the cramp in her hand from the constant pressure on the trigger.

She heard someone screaming, yanking her from her concentration. It sounded like Blithe. A second to turn her head showed he wasn’t on the line. _Maybe he’s injured?_ she thought. _But then, why the hell isn’t he screaming for a medic?_

She put him out of her mind. She didn’t have time to focus on him. Not with tanks bearing down on them.

Everyone else was on point, especially Alley and Liebgott. She heard Hoobler counting, “Seven,” crack, “eight,” crack. She was glad they were on her side.

She heard Winters timber bellowing, and turned to find him standing over a foxhole and coaxing the man in it to fight. _Winters is out of his mind,_ she decided. _Thank God for that._ She wondered who he was talking to as she fumbled through her mussette bag for another clip or six, and didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Blithe stood up from the concealing lip of the foxhole and started shooting, pouring his fear into every shot.

Finally reloaded, Eve fired. The bullet hit a Kraut in the forehead, sending him to the ground.

And then the other resident nut-job, Lieutenant Welsh, broke rank to run forward with McGrath and a bazooka, completely exposed in the open field and in direct line of an oncoming tank.

“COVERING FIRE!” Eve shouted. “Cover the Lieutenant!”

Her squad heard, and followed her lead, aiming for the tank’s tracks. Martin and Guarnere’s squads weren’t far behind.

McGrath’s first shot skidded off the tank armor.

 _Fuck, fuck!_ she thought, and turned her attention to the infantry using the tanks as shields to get closer to their lines and their two men in the open.

The tank retaliated, nearly blowing the two bazooka wielding men to hell as the shell sailed right over top of them. The tree in front of Eve exploded into raining javelins.

She screamed. A haze of sawdust shrouded her vision as she plastered herself to the mud once more. She pried herself up, desperate to see what was going on, to make sure Welsh and McGrath were still all right, were still fighting.

McGrath’s next shot hit the tank in the soft underbelly, stopping it in its tracks.

“SUPPRESSING FIRE!” she screamed as Welsh and McGrath scrambled back to the safety of the lines. It was largely unnecessary as the entire line, who’d also observed this feat of courage, fired everything they had at the still oncoming tanks.

“Keep firing south!” called Winters, trying to remind them of the wave of infantry still coming forward.

Welsh jumped back onto the line next to Liebgott on the opposite side of Eve.

“You hit a home run, Lieutenant!” Liebgott said with a laugh and went back to firing.

The victory was short-lived. More tanks rolled down the hill, infantry filling the gaps between them. Easy was all that was left holding the line. They were taking one hell of a beating.

Men were falling like flies all along the line. When a shell from those tanks hit a man, he was either disintegrated or torn apart like a ragdoll between a pack of wolves. Eve wasn’t sure which fate was worse.

“You got any more of those rockets, Lieutenant?” she asked, scanning the line again as she spoke, shouting so the man – only three feet from her, could hear over the racket. The ominous _click-click-click-click_ of the tank tread vibrating the ground, combined with the roar of the heavy gun and the cacophony of hundreds of rifles going off was going to deafen her, Eve just knew.

She saw Bull Randleman fall, but he was apparently uninjured, because he popped right back up. Lieutenant Compton screamed for a medic.

She did the only thing she could and kept firing, picking off machine gunners only for regular infantry guys to step up and fill in the gaps.

A German tank exploded. Then another.

_What the hell?_

Eve scanned the trees and saw the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen. The guys on the line started laughing and cheering.

_Reinforcements! Finally._

After what seemed like hours of constant bombardment, they were finally getting some relief in the form of Sherman tanks bowling over the forest, running right over trees instead of around them in their pursuit of the fleeing Germans. Perconte and Luz were celebrating loudly to her far right.

She heard Welsh, on Liebgott’s left calling them, “Beautiful babies, you!”

She watched with glee as the Shermans routed the Germans from their position, and concentrated on picking off the infantry now that they’d taken care of the tanks.

 _It’s the little targets now that will do the most damage to my guys,_ she reminded herself. _Let the tanks worry about the tanks._

The infantry pulled back, their tank support fleeing far faster than they could. Some of the braver Krauts turned to fire off one last shot at the Americans, hoping to get lucky.

Eve made sure that any of them that she could see, got a last shot of their own right between the eyes.

The fighting wound down to a halt. Men exchanged cigarettes and congratulations as they watched the 2nd Armored pursue the Germans. _Thank God for that,_ she thought and collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard.

-

The Krauts were well and truly routed.

That had been one hell of a scrap.

Donald Hoobler grinned. _Fifteen,_ he thought. _Not too shabby._

“Did you see that, Sarge?” he called, remembering the woman had settled near to him on the line.

He turned and found, not Sergeant Evelyn Buchanan, but Lieutenant Harry Welsh lying next to him, shakes getting him as he fumbled for a lighter.

“That was one hell of a shot, sir,” he offered the man. It had been one of the most glorious things Hoobler had ever seen.

Welsh just grinned and rolled onto his back to enjoy his cigarette.

Hoobler got to his knees, still aware that the Krauts could be sniping for any helmets foolish enough to rise above the bare lip of cover they’d carved, and finally found Ev.

“Sarge?” said Hoobler, looking her over. There was a branch, nearabouts the size of his forearm pinning her thighs to the ground. She wasn’t moving, but after a held breath of his own, he noticed that at least she was still breathing.

He crawled closer to her, and knocked off the branch, relieved that it wasn’t that heavy. If she wanted to, he realized, she could have rolled free any time; she just hadn’t bothered in order to keep firing. Son of a bitch. This close, he finally heard the giggling, only mostly buried in the mud – where she was probably trying to keep the moment of girlishness between herself and God.

He grinned himself just to hear it. He didn’t care what anybody said, Evelyn Buchanan was all right.

She looked at him and smiled, face coated in dirt and grime, but her eyes were more lively than he’d ever seen. He clapped her on the shoulder in exaltation and let out a whoop.

-

Eve took a deep breath to savor her joy, patted Hoobler on the shoulder, and got up, intending to go check on her guys.

As she turned around, she found a skinny guy with a 2ndArmored patch on his arm staring down into the foxhole Winters had been standing over during the battle. She joined the man, crouching on the lip of the foxhole, her legs ever so helpfully reminded her they were bruised as she moved, but by then she was too committed to stop mid-motion.

“You all right, Blithe?” she asked, ignoring the schmuck with glasses as she looked down at the trooper.

Wide blue eyes met hers as Blithe slowly, shaking like a leaf, got out of his hole. Eve stood and backed up to give him room.

He held her eyes, somewhat disbelieving. “I did it, Sarge.”

She smiled at him. “You sure did, Blithe. I’m proud of you.”

He gave her a tumultuous smile and ducked his head shyly. She watched his head snap up, obviously remembering something. He stepped around her with determination, having forgotten she was there in his distraction. She watched him go out across the field, but didn’t stop to wonder what he’s doing. She figured he’d holler if he needed any help.

She turned and glared at the gawking 2nd Armored Private, which convinced him to move along.

Eve checked on her men. Everybody was mostly okay. Some of the guys were bleeding, but none of them were seriously hurt. _Thank God._ She breathed.

She was really proud of all of them right now.

When Blithe came back to the line, he wore Edelweiss on his lapel, the mark of a true soldier.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	14. Pulling Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company took the fields around Carentan in the battle of the Bloody Gulch. 
> 
> “Sorrow comes to all...Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better and yet you are sure to be happy again.” - Abraham Lincoln
> 
> Now: Eve goes on her last patrol in France, and Easy Company finally gets pulled off the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atman, FandomlyCroft, Aniset, and Laura001 all helped make this chapter what it is. All the love to them. Remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 14-

“Martin, John!” called Vest.

Johnny Martin shot his hand into the air. Vest calling his name meant one thing: mail call.

Vest ambled over to him with a smile. “Here you go, Johnny. Looks like it’s from your wife,” said Vest, handing over the letter. After two years of receiving weekly letters from his wife back home, he and Vest had gotten to know each other.

Martin was grateful the letter had finally gotten through. It was two and a half weeks late, and he’d been getting seriously worried, one more anxiety amongst many as their time in combat continued without an end in sight.

“Thanks, Vest,” he said, ripping into the envelope.

_Dear Johnny,_

_The news of the invasion hit the papers this morning. I worry about you, but I have faith that my husband will be all right. All these big, noteworthy, things going on, and all the papers can talk about is the woman from your unit._

_I wish those vultures would leave the poor girl alone. They’re saying she doesn’t have a sweetheart waiting for her, so surely she’s made aplenty among her unit. I trust my husband is not at the heart of such viciousness._

_If I were a woman all alone in an army of men, I’d hope that you, my husband, the kindest man I’ve ever known, would take it upon yourself to be a friend to me, should I have been in her place._

_I only have a few names…_

He looked up from his letter to see the subject of his wife’s concern just ahead.

With his wife firmly in his mind, Johnny called out to the woman.

"Hey, Buchanan!"

She stopped to wait for him. Martin kept his gate leisurely, taking his time to study Buchanan. She looked tired. She probably was tired. Shit, he was tired after last night.

“Yes,” she said, seemingly surprised.

Well, Martin wasn’t exactly _known_ for being friendly, but Buchanan was a fellow sergeant. It was about time he got to know her.

“Did you hear about what that Dog Lieutenant – Speirs – said to Blithe last night?”

There. That seemed like a safe topic. Welsh had told Martin to keep an eye on the kid when he’d put Blithe in his squad. The lieutenant had gone on to imply that Sergeant Buchanan had been the one to suggest it to him. After spending the night sharing a foxhole with the kid, Martin fully agreed. Blithe would need watching.

"No,” she said, relaxing.

“Started going on about how everyone’s already dead.”

“Of all the stupid –” Buchanan cursed. “Why the hell would he say that to Blithe of all people?”

“Hell if I know,” agreed Martin. “Spooked the fuck outta the kid though, didn’t sleep a fucking wink all night,” Martin yawned. “Neither did I.”

“The kid didn’t look good when he walked into town – God was it only yesterday? – There was no cause to spook him further. No wonder he spent the first half of the fight screaming.”

“Did he really go blind when we took the town?” Martin asked.

Martin wondered when he’d shifted from sharing gossip to gathering it. She answered anyway, “Yes.”

“Christ,” said Martin with a shake of his head. “And they made him come back out?”

Medics had gotten stingy with treatment. Every man was needed. If a body could be fighting, they needed the bed.

“He wanted to,” she said.

“Huh, no kidding,” said Martin, nonplussed.

She nodded and grabbed a tray. Martin looked around, startled to find that they’d somehow made it to the mess tent without him noticing. He got his own tray and went through the line. His stomach let out a noise as the smell hit him. He followed Buchanan to a table, salivating. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until just now.

"Yeah," she said. She bit off an unmannerly large lump and chewed it, studying the man in front of her.

He graciously allowed Buchanan a few moments of pause to their conversation as he ravaged his own meal.

She watched him with unnerving blue lamps, eating just as ravenously as he was before slowing, the worst of her hunger apparently slacked.

“He’s in your squad?” she asked him.

Martin nodded, chewing unapologetically.

“You’ll look after him, right?”

“You got it,” he assured her, just so she’d turn off the eyes.

They spent the meal in silence, occasionally waving to some acquaintance or other but mostly content to eat in peace.

It wasn’t until they were leaving the tent that Martin spoke again. He’d been chewing on the thought the whole meal, wondering if he should come out and say it. Buchanan had a reputation of not slandering officers, but Speirs’s behavior still rankled. “Still. Can’t believe he said that. You think he really believes that shit? Guy’s off his nut.”

Buchanan shot him a wry look. “You do remember that we all signed up to jump out of perfectly good airplanes into enemy territory, right?”

“Yeah, I seem to remember the plane,” he snarked back. “That doesn’t mean Speirs isn’t a few screws short.”

"Aren't you? I am." She gave him a smile that was a touch too big with her eyes so wide and walked away. For a moment, he actually thought she was admitting to being as crazy as everyone had pegged her. Why else would a broad join the army if she wasn’t crazy as a lark? Sure, all paratroopers were volunteers, but most were volunteers who were going to be in war anyway.

It wasn't until she'd ducked out of sight that he realized that she'd just been messing with him. She'd actually just made a joke.

He had to go tell Bull.

-

Easy Company spent the three weeks after taking the town of Carentan clearing one small town after another, with scattered patrols in between, fighting for each scrap of ground through hedgerows that were hundreds of years old, and created nearly perfect cover for Enemy positions due to their impenetrable foliage.

Battalion wanted to know the content of every single building on the peninsula.

Nixon became a common fixture on their patrols, marking out buildings as they encountered them.

"I need to know what's in there," said Nix, gesturing towards the farmhouse just beyond the brush he and Welsh were using for cover.

"I don't know who the hell to send," admitted the other lieutenant.

"Ask for volunteers," suggested Nixon.

"I hate asking for volunteers," hedged Welsh. If Nix asked for volunteers or picked the men, it was on him if the guys he selected died. And so many guys had died checking out these farm houses that it was impossible to get volunteers anymore. Welsh was really tired of watching guys he picked die.

"Then pick them," said Nix, losing his patience. He offered no sympathy. He needed that house checked out, now.

"Need to take a look at that farmhouse,” Welsh called back to his platoon. “Who wants to go?"

Welsh scanned their faces. Most avoided his eyes. Not a cricket to be heard amongst them. They'd already seen far too many of their friends die scouting to be stupid enough to volunteer anymore. He was about to suck it up and pick a soldier when someone stood up.

“I’ll go,” Blithe, of all people, volunteered softly. In the weeks since Carentan, Blithe had lost his crippling fear. He was now able to function as a capable soldier by pouring all that fear into whatever he was shooting at.

A beat later, Buchanan volunteered. Welsh sighed, two man teams were typical of scout parties, but he didn’t feel comfortable sending just the two of them.

"Anybody else?" asked Welsh. When no one stood, he finally picked someone, who knows how. "Martin, you just volunteered. Hubba-hubba."

Martin cursed quietly and joined Blithe and Eve.

"I'll be lead," said Blithe, already moving out.

"Blithe's lead scout," Welsh confirmed. "Move out," he said with a wave of his hand.

They went, crouching slowly through underbrush that provided miniscule amounts of cover, and absolutely no protection.

From the rear of the three man column, Eve heard Nix say, "Harry, what exactly are you doing with your reserve chute? You been hauling that thing around ever since we jumped?"

"Gonna send it to Kitty when we get back to England," Welsh said. "Silk. I figure it'll make a good wedding dress, you know, what with rationing and all."

Eve was too far away to hear Nix's reply, if he gave one, but thought about Welsh's point. Rationing what it was, there just wasn't the silk to waste on a frivolous thing like a wedding dress. Eve hadn’t ever seriously considered marriage, but she figured the dress was an important part for any girl who’d spent her life imagining such a thing the way her sister Liza had.

An inattentive footfall snapped the branch under Eve’s heel. Startled, and dreading the implications of such a rookie error, Eve dragged her attention away from the men behind her, thoughts of her sister, and weddings, to focus on what was in front of her. She needed to stay sharp. No one was going to die today. Not like yesterday, or the day before when these stupid patrols had cost good men their lives for nothing more than a moment’s inattention.

They got to an old overturned farm cart. Blithe signaled for Eve and Martin to wait behind the cover, and carefully crept forward, getting a better view of the farmhouse through the trees. He slowly stood a bit higher to signal the all clear.

He went down, blood gushing from his neck before the sharp crack of the sniper’s bullet even reached them.

Eve cursed, scrambling to get her gun up to help the poor bastard.

Welsh screamed for covering fire behind them.

Eve spied the muzzle flashes, took aim, and fired, knocking a sniper from the roof before he could pick off her and Martin too. She wasted precious moments scanning for another threat.

“Buchanan!” cried Martin, getting her attention back to the still bleeding man at her feet.

She seized Blithe by his shirt collar, gave a nod when Martin copied the action on the other side, and started hauling him back to the line.

"Come on, hang in there, Blithe," she said. "Hang in there."

As soon as they got him back to the line, out of sight of the farmhouse and any other potential snipers, they got to work. Martin pulled out his first aid kit and ripped into the sulfa packet, dumping a liberal portion onto the gaping wound while Eve unwrapped the pressure bandage.

"Medic!" Martin cried, trying to be heard over the firefight next to them. "We need a medic up here!"

Eve managed to get the bandage wrapped around his neck, cradling Blithe's head to keep him calm, but the kid was already too calm, eyes lolling about in his skull in a dazed way. He was too quiet; any sane wounded creature knows to scream. It was like he was already dead.

Doc Roe appeared from nowhere, pushing Martin out of the way. "Give me room," he ordered, dumping his helmet from his head. He found Eve’s eyes. "I got him," he reassured her.

She removed her hands from where he needed to be and watched him turn his razor sharp focus on Blithe, who had already bled through the bandage she just put on him. Roe applied pressure and another bandage over top the one already there.

Eve just stared as Blithe's wide ghost eyes searched the treetops and the sky. She wanted to help, but knew well enough that she'd only be in Roe’s way. She spun around and made her way furiously back to where she had a line of sight on the barn, picking off the remaining sniper sticking his weapon out of the upper story right window with a single shot.

Target gone, the woods fell silent once more. Eve swallowed her remaining rage, and went back to hover over Roe and Blithe.

Winters joined Welsh and Nix behind them. "What happened?" he asked the two officers.

"Sniper," she heard Nix say as Roe checked Blithe's eyes and throat to make sure he wasn't swallowing his own tongue, mumbling comforting nonsense to the wounded man.

"Alright Blithe, I got you," Roe said, his voice so soft and soothing that it nearly made her want to cry. "Nice and easy, nice and easy, Blithe."

"They're pulling us off the front line," Winters announced. She looked at him – they all did – but he didn't seem to notice, all his attention was still focused on Blithe's wide, wounded stare.

"Now?" asked Nix, incredulous.

Winters pulled his gaze around to face his friend. "To a field camp north of Utah beach. Hot food and showers. Then back to England." He wandered away with Nix, unable to watch anymore.

Harry took the cigarette he’d spent a good two minutes digging out and lighting, and threw it to the ground in frustration before he’d even managed a puff.

Eve scrubbed a hand through her hair, forgetting that it was slick with blood and grimaced.

If they'd been pulled ten minutes sooner, Blithe wouldn't be on the ground. _This stupid war._

They pulled back to Carentan, which was now far enough behind the lines to be considered safe.

Eve dug out a chair from the rubble, fully intending to just collapse into it. She was too tired to do anything else. Not even if there was a room plastered in gold would she go looting right now. She resigned herself to another day of K-rations while they waited for transport back to the field camp Winters had promised.

She found a place relatively clear of rubble to call her own and planted the chair there. She sat down heavily and decided to be thankful she was alive; thankful that she wasn't in a dirty hole anymore, with bombs coming down on her and bullets spitting dirt into her face.

 _And there’s bright sunshine and a crisp breeze rolling in off the sea,_ Eve thought, pushing thoughts of Blithe and fighting well and truly away. _That's not so bad a day by any standard._

Eve was trying not to look forward to a shower and hot food – which were still a long way off, promises from Winters aside – but the part of her that would always be a girl yearned to be clean again, even for a little while. The first thing Eve wanted to do when they got to the field camp was take a shower.

Now if only she could get Blithe's haunted stare out of her mind.

-

She did not get her wish.

Instead, the beach was swarming with wounded men, most still on stretchers but a few walking around, waiting for passage back to England. Nearly everyone in sight had a bandage of some kind. The stench of blood, infection, and rotten flesh under the baking sun made Eve's stomach roll violently.

So, the first thing she did when she got to the field camp was duck into a garden and throw up. She swilled her mouth out with the water left in her canteen, and then spat it out.

Despite throwing up so recently, which should’ve put her off food, Eve knew she needed to find something to eat. It had been far too long since anything resembling palatable had passed her teeth. She was willing to remain filthy a little bit longer just to get it. She could smell the food from here, hopefully when she was eating, it would drown out the stench of death.

Eve stood in line for chow, tired, and dirty, and fighting to stay awake. She barely noticed when the cooks gave her the same portion as everyone else, without fuss, and without a mess on her ODs. She found a place to sit down, some isolated patch of ground where no one would bother her, and planted herself there. Her hands trembled with exhaustion as she cut into the still steaming food. She had no idea what it was beyond that it was brown and smelled heavenly.

A shadow covered Eve’s face. She looked up with a frown, too tired to deal with anyone's bullshit right now.

She froze in surprise. Perconte and the rest of her squad sat down around her. A beat later Guarnere joined them, scooting in next to Perconte. And then Toye after to him. Soon the empty grass was full to bursting as it seemed like every face she was familiar with in Easy Company tried to squeeze in around her. Eve fought her unease, the isolated woman of Toccoa unsure how to deal with the onslaught of people. As the moments slid by, she relaxed, too exhausted to ponder the men’s motives. She trusted them in a firefight, it was a little ridiculous she was nervous about eating lunch with them. The last of her reserve slid away, and she tucked into the food with renewed gusto.

She might’ve guessed that having so many Easy Company men crowded together in one spot would’ve made the men loud and rowdy. They had certainly been a rambunctious group back at Toccoa. Instead, the mood was somber as the company ate their first hot, well-prepared meal in over four weeks.

Eve rested her head on her hand, elbow on a crate she’d somehow ended up leaning on, as she shoveled food into her mouth automatically, all table manners discarded in the wake of her exhaustion. Each time her eyes closed for a blink, they were that much harder to open

A large hand shook her shoulder. Eve flinched awake, elbow jamming back into the crate. She cursed and rubbed her aching funny bone, glaring at the culprit as she flexed her tingling hand. Guarnere gave her a smile she'd never seen from him before, completely unrepentant.

"Come on, Buchanan," he said. "Let's go find you a rack."

"But I want a shower," she whined. He laughed as her eyes snapped open wide, suddenly much more awake, and horrified that she'd been whining like a child.

"Later," he said and hauled her to her feet with his hands under her armpits. She struggled to get her feet under her and then shot him a dirty glare as he frog-marched her towards wherever it was that Easy Company was bedding down for the night. Eve pretended she couldn't hear him laughing at her.

-

Eve woke up feeling better than she had in a while and decided to find breakfast. It wasn't possible to get any dirtier at this point, so she might as well wait until her stomach was appeased again before she showered.

As she ate breakfast, she wondered how she was going to find a private shower in France. In Toccoa, she’d had a time slot scheduled for a shower when they would be empty of men. In Aldbourne, she'd been in a private residence with a private bathroom. There were no such precautions in place here. She'd need a door guard of some kind.

And that meant bribes.

Liebgott plopped down across from her, blinking blurrily at her for a moment before he savored his black sludge, or whatever it was that the Army was trying to pass as coffee. Eve greatly enjoyed coffee at home, and whatever they were serving here definitely wasn't coffee any more than mud was.

 _There’s an idea_ , Eve thought. _Maybe Liebgott will do it._ She scrutinized the tired man. _Maybe if he had the right incentive_. Eve started calculating how many cigarettes she had tucked away and how many she'd need to part with in order to persuade him.

"Hey, Liebgott?" she said.

He looked up from eating what was probably supposed to be Southern biscuits in white sausage gravy and stared at her. "What?" he asked as he took a bite.

"Can I ask you for a favor?"

He looked intrigued. "What kind of favor?"

"I need someone to stand guard while I shower," she said. "I'll give you a pack of smokes."

He stared at her, fork frozen in front of his mouth for a long moment before he lowered it back to his plate. "When?"

Eve blinked at him, honestly surprised. For a brief moment, her mind flashed to him possibly corralling all the guys to come laugh or leer at her while she was showering, and then decided that she'd deal with it if it happened, especially if it meant getting a shower right now. "Whenever you're done eating?"

"All right," he said. "Give me twenty minutes."

Eve nodded and went to go find a supply officer; hopefully, someone would have a fresh uniform and a cake of soap stashed away somewhere.

-

Eve was honestly a little surprised when she got to the shower tent and Liebgott was already there.

"It's empty," he assured her.

She nodded and went in, double-checking out of habit. Smiling, pleased that Liebgott had been telling the truth, Eve slipped out of her clothes. She spent a moment marveling at the pale color of the skin underneath her filthy ODs. Her exposed hands and neckline were four shades darker.

She slipped under the spray, not even caring that it didn't get warm right away. She inhaled sharply as the icy water doused her head and hair. She spent the minutes it took to warm to a blistering heat enjoying the controlled spray over her aching neck and shoulders.

As soon as the water got warm, she washed as quickly and efficiently as possible, remembering that Liebgott was still waiting outside. There was no way he'd watch the door again if she took forever. He might even get impatient and leave early. She racked her fingernails through her growing hair, scratching the grease from her scalp and then running the soap she’d bartered through it. It was better than nothing.

She threw on the clean uniform she’d found, the texture stiff and starched against her skin. She bundled her old ODs up and grabbed the soap.

She slipped outside to find Liebgott arguing with a small group of privates from Baker Company. They looked like they’d already partaken in a shower apiece. Well, that, or these men hadn’t seen nearly the amount of fighting Easy Company had.

"What, you need another shower already?" Liebgott taunted one of the would-be shower users, using a hand holding a quarter deck of cards expressively to make his point. He must have been playing some form of solitaire to pass the time.

Liebgott noticed her as the Private tried to reply. He succinctly ignored the man and gave her a nod as he gathered up the cards.

"Now you can go in," Liebgott said graciously, as though it wasn't obvious.

The men who'd been kept waiting gave Eve dirty looks as they went into the shower tent, which she ignored.

She forked over the promised pack of cigarettes as agreed and gave Liebgott a smile and a nod. She didn't linger to chat, already heading off to go make sure the rest of her squad was taking care of themselves too.

-

After nearly a month of combat in Normandy, the paratroopers of the 101st were the first soldiers to arrive back in England from the victorious invasion force.

Easy Company was put on LSTs (landing-ship-tanks that were more like giant boats capable of rolling right onto the shore to deliver troops) and brought back to Aldbourne via Southampton. They got off the transport with two, fresh uniforms each, all their back pay, and a seven-day pass from duty. By 8am, most of Easy was off to London.

Eve was one of the few to stay behind.

“Come on, Buchanan,” wheedled Marlakey when she wouldn’t hop on the train to London with the rest of her squad fresh off the LSTs. “We’re the first ones off the boat from France. There’ll be free food and booze to go around!”

Eve smiled at the man. “I’ll pass. You stay out of trouble, you here?”

“I’m on leave, Sarge,” said Malark, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “What could possibly happen?”

Eve knew him well enough to just shake her head and smile as he hopped into his compartment. She watched the train depart, obligingly waving back at the overly enthusiastic young men on their way to the biggest celebration of the year. It wasn’t every day they were responsible for turning the tide of the war, after all. Eve was fairly certain her fellow soldiers would make their own merriment.

It was set in stone now. The Allies had successfully invaded the fortress Hitler had built around Europe.

Eve briefly considered jumping on the train after all. She could make the jump with a little effort if she tried. It had been a long time since Eve had let loose, and celebrating surviving Normandy – with a death toll in the hundreds of thousands at last count – would be nice.

She let the dream pass. Eve had sworn off any celebrating that involved drinking when she joined the Army. She was in the papers enough without having drunken shenanigans to tempt the reporters.

When the back of the last carriage had left the platform, Eve took a deep breath and grabbed her bag. _Looks like I’m hoofing it_ , she thought swinging her bag over her shoulder. _At least I know the way_.

Eve wandered through the town she’d often dreamed of on the front lines. It was like being in one of those dreams, walking the streets again. Shopkeepers waved from behind their counters. People on the streets, some she’d knew – most she didn’t – stopped to shake her hand and say their thanks, calling her a hero. Eve blushed, not knowing what to say, feeling like a sham.

The real heroes went down in Normandy.

She kept her head down for the most part, enjoying a cobblestone street that wasn’t riddled with the gaping wounds of war.

The yards lining the lane were all well tended, with victory gardens along the sides of the whitewashed houses. Eve breathed in air perfumed with flowers and fields with relish. It was a staggering difference from the air in France, where death, decay, gunpowder, and blood masked all pleasant things.

It kept her feet on the ground and her head focused as she traced the familiar route to a familiar stoop, and knocked on a familiar door. She felt oddly anxious, taking a deep breath to steel herself as she waited.

And waited.

Minutes passed.

 _Maybe they’re not home_ , she worried, and knocked again.

The door pulled open from under her fist.

“Cynthia, don’t you dare ring that cursed –” Margaret gasped as she took in the familiar soldier on her doorstep – her surprise lasting just long enough for Eve to catch the grin splitting the woman’s face before she was swept up into Margaret’s arms.

Eve laughed, a sound filled with joy that she hadn’t felt since the last time she’d been under this roof – _gosh was it just a month ago?_

Margaret pulled back to look her over, but kept Eve’s shoulders under her hands, as though anchoring the belief that the young woman was really standing before her, and not some figment conjured to haunt her.

“Oh, Evelyn dear,” said Margaret, sniffling through tears of joy. “You are a sight for sore eyes indeed, my dear. Come in, come in!”

Eve allowed the woman to tow her through the quaint house and into her domain. Eve sat down in what had become her chair, feeling a fierce upwelling of emotion as Margaret smoothed a hand through her still short hair and gave her temple a gentle kiss.

“You caught me in the middle of making lunch, my dear. Charles is at work, he’ll be so cross that he missed you. If we’d known you were coming he’d have tried for the evening off at least. Blasted newspapers have been quite hush-hush about the prospects of the invasion, but it must be going well if they’ve sent your lot back to us. Full of all kinds of doings, I’m not sure I believe it all mind –.”

Eve was content to let Margaret bustle around her, glad to be back. She hoped her welcome home would be as joyous as this. She ached with the longing of it. Her eyes welled as she thought of her mother, and the tension that had lingered between them when she’d departed for training.

She bit her trembling lip in a bid to keep her tears in check, but the weight of it slowly overwhelmed her. She bowed her head, struggling to hide it, fighting to regain her slipping control.

“Here now,” said Margaret, coming over. “What’s this, dear?”

Eve shook her head. She hardly knew herself why this was happening now of all times.

What did she have to cry about, after all? She was one of the lucky ones. She’d lived to come back to this place. A place that had come to mean as much to her as her home back in Virginia, filled with people who so obviously loved her.

Margaret took Eve into her arms and pulled until Eve’s tears were buried in her shoulder.

Eve wept. She wept because she’d made it, and she wept for the ones who didn’t. She wept because she knew she was loved, and for the people still waiting for her to come home. She wept for the men she’d killed, and the fear that any moment here was borrowed time. She wept that she was here, where the war was a world away, and yet present in every aspect of the reality of this peaceful place. She wept because it was only a matter of time before she had to go back.

Margaret made no comment on her tears, just rocked her gently until they had subsided, murmuring nonsense into her hair.

Eve pulled away, her embarrassing flow of tears plugged at last and dashed her fingers under her eyes with a rueful smile.

Margaret pet her hair once more and gave her some space to pull herself back together, nattering on about the comings and goings of the small English village.

Eve settled in to listen, knowing that she was safe for now.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. Any and all feedback is much appreciated.


	15. Aldbourne Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company gets pulled from France. 
> 
> "...the experience of battle forever divides those who talk of nothing else but its prospect from those who talk of everything else but its memory." ― James D. Hornfischer
> 
> Now: Eve settles back into life at Aldbourne and deals with a new breed of soldier –the replacements.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by: Atman, FandomlyCroft, and Laura001. And to Helianza for her graciously helping with the French. Thank you all for making this so much better.

-Chapter 15-

Eve spent her leave with Margaret, relishing a simpler routine which involved nothing of fighting an enemy beyond the dust-bunnies rampant in an older, English home.

The newspapers were full of the exploits of the paratroopers who’d gone to London and the ruckus they were causing. “More damage than the blitz,” some newspapers claimed. The pictures they printed were evidence enough to Eve that she’d made the right decision in staying in Aldbourne.

The soldiers returned soon enough as their passes expired, but the _joie de vivre_ in the air didn’t seem to diminish in the least.

Despite the jubilant atmosphere, Winters wasted no time in getting Easy back to work.

Training resumed, with the inevitable consequences of not taking it seriously weighing heavily on them all. There was a focus to these drills that had been missing before they’d jumped into combat and watched a lot of their friends die.

To fill out their diminished ranks, the Army sent them replacements, boys who’d never seen combat before, fresh off the boat from the good ol' US of A. Most were bummed that they’d missed the jump into France, and all of them were eager for combat. Eve and the rest of the veterans found it a little repulsive how excited they were for a “taste of the action”.

As though watching your friends be cut to pieces, a leg here, his head over there, torso obliterated into nothing but a spatter, was something to look forward to. Where every passing second brought you closer to your own bullet and a face to face meeting with your maker.

 _No_ , Eve thought, pushing the memories away – always away. She was in no hurry to return to combat.

Eve could only vaguely remember the naivety that fostered her fierce desire to prove herself through combat. It was foolish, she understood that now. She would never be a part of the boys club, and she’d made her peace with that, but she was an NCO now, and thus responsible to help bring the new guys up to scratch.

It quickly became apparent that while the new boys were qualified paratroopers, they hadn’t been trained in nearly the same way. Eager to fill their decimated ranks, the Army had skimmed the intense two-year training Eve and the other Toccoa veterans had undergone, condensing it to a barebones level of knowledge on the basics of jumping and maneuvers, but little else – especially in the way of fitness – in a paltry eight months.

Sure, these new guys had earned their wings, but Easy Company had been forged under Sobel, the toughest CO in the entire 506. The replacements just weren’t up to the exacting standard Easy Company was used to maintaining.

That changed. It was gradual, but Eve and the other NCOs worked hard to impress the serious reality of war on the new guys as they beat them into shape.

There were mistakes made in Normandy, most killing the foolish men who’d made them. The officers and NCOs remembered those mistakes, learned from them, and set out plans to correct them.

They started training with live ammo, to get the kids into the mindset of the lethality of real bullets flying over their heads, and to get them used to crawling on the ground as low as they could at all times, like a snake, to avoid catching one in the helmet. The veterans knew you didn’t need to see where you were going if you were crawling somewhere. You were going forward and forward only until you hit cover, and only then could you sit up and survey again. They forced this lesson into the replacements.

Easy Company made a point to train on different types of terrain. There’d been swamps, and gullies, and hills, and towns in Normandy, and rain or shine, they trained relentlessly to meet the same diversity again. Easy Company needed to be able to fight on it all.

They made sure to train at night too. The enemy wouldn’t always wait for daylight to come try and kill you.

The lessons were hard and endless. Eve just hoped she could keep the replacements in her squad alive – or at least get them trained to the point where they could keep themselves alive – once they got back over there. After all, it was only a matter of time before the Army called Easy back to the front.

Eve spent a lot of time anticipating what they were going to do next, always trying to be one step ahead of the game so that when her squad came to her with questions, she could answer them.

She studied all the manuals she could get her hands on – heavy weapons, guns, vehicles, machinery, anything – just as she had before Normandy. She followed this reading up, and experimented with the various equipment she’d read about, trying to figure it all out, but also learning how to adapt when things went wrong. Guarnere, who seemed to be of a similar mind, helped her get her hands on materials he’d just finished learning himself.

Guarnere was Eve’s new platoon sergeant. He was always getting into things. He wanted to know everything everyone else knew. If she tagged along, he didn’t mind explaining what he’d already figured out.

“See on these MG’s, if the bullet’s bent like this,” he pulled one from the long string that had a divot in it the size of her fingernail, “the gun’ll jam up to holly hell, and then you’re cooked, best to make someone go through all the strings and pick out the garbage. Better a blank shot than a jammed MG when you need it.”

He was also pretty good at finding out what the officers had planned next, possible drop locations, whatever.

“Benny in HQ told me that we’re havin’ another night watch on Wednesday. Make sure you bring your poncho too, supposed to rain,” he told her on Monday after drill.

“What, rain? In England?” she joked. It had rained one out of every three days and it was the middle of summer for God’s sake.

“Ha, ha,” he drawled with a smirk. “See ya tomorrow.”

-

Guarnere was heading towards the mess hall for lunch, ready to take a break from training before going out to do it again, when he heard it.

Two replacements from Third Platoon were walking in front of him, obviously headed for mess as well. He didn't give them much thought until he was close enough to overhear what they were saying.

"Did you hear? We're in the same company as that female soldier, the one from the papers," said a blond replacement, not bothering to keep his voice down in the slightest.

"Goddamn it, I joined the Airborne to fight with the best and instead, we're stuck dragging along some woman," snarled the blond’s black-haired companion. "I bet she never even fired her weapon in Normandy, just stayed back to let the men take care of everything."

"As it should be!" crowed the blond.

"She must not be good looking enough to find a husband. I heard she made it through basic on her back," said the dark-haired fool with an obscene hand gesture. The first man laughed.

Guarnere didn't even realize he was moving as he grabbed the dark-haired speaker and slammed him into the wall. "Watch your Goddamn mouth!"

"S-sir?" stuttered the stunned blond, backing away from the enraged platoon sergeant who’d pinned his friend.

Guarnere released the wide-eyed kid with another shove to hammer home his point. The man against the wall slid down, knees weak as Bill spat at the man's feet to show his disgust. He pinned the blond in place with his fiercest glare and snarled at them. "Sergeant Buchanan is worth three of you, you son of a bitch. I better not catch wind of you sayin' any of that bullshit again, got it?"

The men nodded, too terrified to even speak.

Bill stalked away, still tense with rage and growled, "Fucking replacements," just loud enough for them to hear. _What the fuck do they know?_

He hurried to the mess, unreasonably worried that some other replacements might've already hassled the woman. He scanned the stables that served as Easy's dining hall – little more than a barn with a few picnic tables that still smelled of hay and horseshit. Buchanan was sitting alone, hunched forward in a way he hadn't seen from her in a while.

He slid into a seat across from her. "Hey, Ev," he greeted, "you all right?"

She looked up at him and gave him a welcoming smile. "Just peachy," she said, her posture softening.

"That's good," said Bill. "Grub any good today?"

"Is it ever good?"

"Not a bit," he said with a grin. "Be right back," he told her before moving to get his own portion of slop. _At least it’s better than K-rations_ , he thought, prodding the food with his fork.

By the time he reclaimed his seat across from Ev, the table had filled up. Roe was eating quietly on her right, while Liebgott was engaged in a conversation with Hoobler on her left. Toye had claimed the seat next to his.

As he settled in, Guarnere wondered if they'd heard the new rumors too. From the way that Roe kept glancing at her, the Doc had. And Liebgott looked particularly murderous whenever the woman wasn't looking his way.

 _We’ll just have to take care of this quickly, then,_ Guarnere thought, _before Ev finds outs_. The replacements would eventually learn that Buchanan was just as good a soldier as any of the guys from Toccoa – better in some ways because she was a damn fine shot. But if that learning could be accelerated by cracking open a few skulls, well, he was only too happy to help.

-

 _Aldbourne really is like a fairytale,_ Eve thought idly. _The war is so far away; it can’t touch me here._

Eve had a two-day pass, and was spending the time off enjoying her favorite off-duty pastime, wandering the small village to unwind from the stress of trying to teach unwilling replacements.

She wasn’t sure why the replacements were so unwilling to learn from her. She’d earned her jump-star just like all the other boys, but accepted it as a consequence of being female. They would listen, or learn the hard way. She only hoped that she could knock some sense into them before they were called on a jump.

Evelyn wandered through the cobblestone streets, head tilted back, gazing at the huge fluffy clouds that were always floating above the town, and admiring the subtle swirls of gray. She'd chosen a side street that she hadn't explored yet. It was early enough in the morning that Eve – generally assured of her isolation at this time of morning – had stopped paying attention to what was going on around her.

A fist came from nowhere – without the slightest bit of warning or provocation – and hit her in the jaw. Eve went sprawling to the ground, blinking in shock and delayed pain. She'd only just managed to get her hands under her before her face slammed into the cobblestones.

A foot found her tender ribs and then slammed into her side and kidneys as she tried to roll away from the assault.

She was too stunned to even scream; her voice stayed choked in her throat. It was like her body couldn't respond to her brain's increasingly frantic demands to do something, _anything_ , yet she was simply too dumbfounded to move while she was being pummeled.

Jumbled curses and spit rained down on her from above as she took the abuse. The man reeked of alcohol.

It took a foot coming straight for her face for her body to wake up. Some instinct gripped her, and by some miracle, she grabbed his foot, twisting it at the ankle sharply enough to torque his knee.

The man screamed in pain and stumbled backwards, finally losing his momentum.

Eve surged to her feet, pain overwhelmed by her fight instinct. She swung her arm around and slugged the staggering drunk. He fell backwards and didn't even have the coordination to cushion his fall as he slammed into the street.

He didn't get back up, despite the punch only being half of what she would’ve put behind it if he’d come at her in a fair fight. She shook out her right hand. _Goddamn that hurt_.

A blossom of red tinted her ODs at her bicep, which she ignored. Her arm throbbed in pain, radiating outwards from her stitches. She’d largely forgotten the wound she’d received in Normandy, it was nothing on the shoulder injury she’d had at Toccoa. It had been completely dormant before the beating she'd just taken, but now it throbbed with a furious vengeance.

She waited a second for the man to get back up and come at her again. When he didn't, she actually tried to get a look at him. He was a Corporal, but she didn't know him beyond recognizing that he wasn't from Easy. Eve didn't need to smell his breath to know that the man was drunk off his face. _It’s not even noon for Christ's sake_.

He'd apparently landed pretty hard on the ground when she'd helped him fall. _Maybe a head wound knocked him senseless?_ Either way, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

She left him there and went to find Winters. He would know what to do.

Fortunately, the man was easily located in the CP, even this early in the morning. She ducked into his office, unsurprised to find Winters in the company of Nixon and Lieutenant Welsh.

“Jesus Christ, Buchanan,” Nixon swore as she ducked into the room. “What the hell happened?”

Eve looked at herself. She was covered in mud and street muck, a large boot-print and even the sweeping line of a toe from the kick lined her middle. The blood had created a bit more than the smear she’d noticed right after the fight, and now a large pool decorated her sleeve. She realized now that she should’ve perhaps taken a moment to clean up before charging to the CP.

She knew from experience that the bruises she was already feeling would take at least a few hours to blossom into the array of colors she was expecting.

"Commander Winters, sir?" she said, ignoring Nixon. She didn’t know herself what the hell had happened. "Can I speak with you? In private."

Winters took a long, sweeping look at her, and then sent the other two men from the room with a nod. Winters had officially been named the CO of Easy Company on their return from Normandy, and he took his job seriously.

Welsh glared at Winters, but was the first to storm out, giving Eve a gentle pat on her uninjured shoulder as he passed.

Nixon gave Eve a speculative look, before leaving too, probably planning to listen at the door.

Shame flooded her as the door clicked closed behind the two men; shame that she’d been caught off guard, a soldier who should’ve been able to anticipate anything; shame that she’d left him in the street like a sack of garbage.

With a deep breath, she put the feeling aside and she described incident; including the unprovoked nature of the assault and where she'd left the man.

"Was he trying to take advantage of you, Sergeant?" said Winters, his tone implying a sexual motivation.

"I don't know. I don’t think he was after me because I'm a woman, sir. I think he was just drunk and bored and decided I looked like an easy target," she said.

“Do you know him?”

“No, sir, but he’s not from Easy Company, or a Toccoa man. I’m sure.”

Winters gave her a long, hard look she did her best to meet. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I think we can go ahead and treat this as an enlisted man attacking an officer” – rather than as a sexual assault – “I’m going to call the MPs and take care of it. I want you to report to Doc Roe and get that arm looked at. After a beating like that, you’re going to be sore tomorrow, so I’m issuing you another one-day pass, concurrent with the leave you’re on now.”

Eve nodded, bewildered. Winters quickly filled out the pass and signed it. He handed it out to her, but wouldn’t let go when she tried to take it.

“Thank you for bringing this incident directly to my attention, Sergeant. I trust you will do so in the future, should this ever happen again.”

She looked down. “I hope it doesn’t.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “But you did the right thing. I won’t ever discipline you for defending yourself, understand?”

Eve nodded, and met the man’s eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

He let go of her pass. “You can go. Make sure you don’t forget to see Roe.”

She nodded again, and said, “I will.”

She opened the door and nodded to the two men standing nonchalantly beyond and went to find her friend, dreading the upcoming conversation.

-

“The MPs are already taking care of it,” Nix announced as he led Welsh back into Winters’s office. He’d been listening at the door long enough to hear the story and light a fire under the MPs he’d sent out to pickup that piece of trash. They’d already reported back. “They found him right where she said he was, passed out. Replacement, Dog Company, three sheets to the wind if I’m one to judge. They’ve got him in the brig for 48 hours.”

Winters sat down in his chair with a sigh. “Good,” he said.

“What the hell was he thinking, going after Buchanan in broad daylight? Jesus Christ this is gonna be a nightmare when it gets out.”

“It’s not going to get out,” ordered Nix. “We can’t have the whole company storm the brig. It would be anarchy. We’re could be called up for another jump any day now. The drop on Paris might’ve been overrun by Patton, but there’s something brewing up the chain. It’s not going to be long.”

Winters rubbed his brow.

“It was always a risk that something like this would happen,” continued Nixon.

“This is why we don’t have women in the army,” said Welsh.

Both Nix and Winters shot the man a glare. “That’s not helpful, Harry.”

“No, but it is the truth,” said Nix. “If command hears about this, they might pull her from the unit.”

“It won’t come to that,” argued Winters.

Nix just looked at him. He knew better.

“We file it under an assault on an officer. We can’t afford to lose a good NCO right before we jump back into combat. If it happens again,” Winters paused to sigh, “we’ll deal with it then.”

“All right,” agreed Nix, perhaps a little too easily.

“So, what’ll we tell the boys?”

“Nothing. Let Buchanan tell them what she wants to,” decreed Winters. “The last thing we need is more gossip.”

-

Eve forgot to see Roe on her way home.

Well, more accurately, she decided it was better not to worry him.

Besides, she was exhausted. Resignation was thick in her breast. She supposed she was lucky something like this hadn’t happened sooner; hadn’t happened in combat, God forbid. It was one of the reasons she’d been placed with the paratroopers of the 506 instead of some other outfit. It was unique for training soldiers together to go into combat together. They hadn’t even received replacements on the line, and from the rumblings up top, never would.

She hadn’t taken the reality of replacements into the equation, hoping they would respect her history before judging her as a female – an error she was regretting now.

All she wanted was to find her bed, and maybe some aspirin.

She went back to her host’s house and slipped in through the door.

“Evelyn, dear?” called Margaret. “Is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, dusting off the front of her ODs as best she could, smearing the mud deeper into the fabric, but hopefully obscuring the boot-prints.

“Come on through, I need a hand to with these potatoes if I’m to get them in, in time for lun-” Margaret came around the corner and gasped in shock. “Good lord! What happened, child?”

Eve bit her lip, wincing as her teeth found a cut she hadn’t even noticed.

Margaret ran trembling hands over Eve’s face, tisking as the young woman flinched.

“Let’s get you in something more comfortable, all right?” Margaret said when she was finished looking Eve over, obviously noting whenever the girl cringed away from her skimming hands. “I have just the thing. I hope it fits you, my dear, I dare say I have a bit more on top than you do.”

Eve let the woman tug her upstairs and foist a button down dress on her. She stripped, wincing as the simple, everyday movements pulled at her forming bruises and sore muscles.

It wasn’t until she was buttoning up the front of the dress that she noticed the vengeful look in Margaret’s eyes.

A part of her wanted to turn and hide, still ashamed that she’d been blindsided. Instead, she gave the woman a rueful smile.

“Thank goodness Charles is off at work until dinner tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Eve.

“What on earth for, child?" Margaret said. “You’re the one with blood and bruises covering you like one of those awful modern paintings.”

Eve didn’t know what to say.

Margaret cupped Eve’s face in her palms, forcing the girl to meet her eyes. “Don’t you ever apologize for a man hurting you. Not ever.”

Eve met the woman’s eyes, and nodded.

“Good,” said Margaret. “When you’re finished, come on down, and we’ll bake cookies. Nothing like mixing dough to make a body feel better.”

Eve laughed, surprising herself.

“There she is,” said Margaret, pinching Eve’s unbruised cheek before sweeping out of the room. “Don’t forget to bring those filthy clothes down for the laundry with you.”

Eve had spent most of her leave in the kitchen with Margaret, enough time that she’d gotten used to the woman asking her for help with cooking and baking, and the assorted prep work that came along with that.

For all Eve had never had much occasion to practice, Charles and Margaret seemed to enjoy her cooking. Perhaps they were simply humoring a beginner effort, but it felt good to be doing something with her hands besides training for combat and warfare.

Cookies, however, were something even Eve had experience with. Even during the worst of the Depression, her mother had always made it a point to bake with her children, though sometimes they were just five-ingredient peanut butter cookies that were more peanut than cookie. Now, every time Eve made cookies, she could just smell a hint of her mother’s favorite perfume, and be back in her kitchen at home once again.

She scooped up her laundry. A plan began forming in her mind, a plan that was sure to take Charles’s mind off her bruises.

“If you don’t mind,” Eve said, entering the kitchen. “I’d like to try my hand at cooking dinner.” Margaret turned, surprised. “By myself,” she clarified.

The woman watched her, a strange look on her face.

Eve babbled. “Perhaps if he sees me up and about, it will lessen the impact of, well,” Eve gestured at her front, “this.”

Margaret still didn’t say anything.

“It really looks worse than it is,” Eve insisted.

"Ha!” barked the woman. “Sure it is, deary,” said Margaret, holding a hand out for the slightly bloody ODs and took them to the laundry basket. “If that’s what you’d like. It’s no imposition on me to cook tonight, deary. You must be tired.”

Eve wondered if Margaret didn’t like her cooking at all and was really just too polite to say.

"It's not a problem,” Eve insisted. “I'd be happy to. In fact, I insist."

-

It was mid-afternoon. Eve was halfway through mixing the second batch of appeasement cookies she going to offer Charles to take his mind off things when someone rang the doorbell. Eve winced as the grating sound took hold of her spine and shook it.

No wonder Margaret hated that bell.

Fortunately, Margaret was out back hanging the laundry on the line in the garden where she couldn’t hear the blasted thing and go tearing off to scold the poor soul who’d dared ring it.

Eve wiped her hands off on a wet towel as best she could, and hurried to answer the door before whoever it was rang the hideous sounding bell again.

She wished she could say she was surprised to find Eugene on the other side, his medic bag slung over his shoulder and an unimpressed look on his face.

"Winters sent me. Can I come in?" he asked, eying the already darkening flesh on her cheek critically. Eve flushed as he raised an eyebrow.

She stepped aside.

After a moment’s hesitation, where he just stared at her balefully and she dearly regretted not going to visit him earlier – if only to spare the look he was giving her now – he slipped around her.

The oven’s timer sounded. Eve jumped at the escape. “That’ll be the cookies,” she said and whirled away.

The smell of caramelized molasses from the brown teased her tongue to watering. She removed the baking tray, the fresh sheet-pan taking the place of the perfectly golden cookies. She couldn’t wait to taste one.

Eve moved the steaming cookies from the tray to a towel on the counter, then rinsed off the tray. She could feel Roe’s eyes watching her, and did her best to keep her movements easy and pain free.

She knew he noticed each and every wince anyway.

When she was set up for the next batch to go in – neat lines of raw dough parading in rows and columns on the tray – she had a couple minutes to spare before she had to repeat the process again.

Giving in, she set down her utensils and turned towards the medic with a sigh.

“This way,” she said, and led him to her room.

-

Roe stepped into the small room and looked around. There was very little obvious indication that Evelyn Buchanan inhabited the space beyond her say so. Still, there was good light from the window, and it seemed comfortable.

Ev closed the door behind him.

“What hurts?” he asked. She started listing ailments. When she said the bastard had kicked her ribs – in not so many words – Roe stopped her. “Show me.”

Ev turned away from him and unbuttoned the front of her dress, sliding it down her shoulders to pool around her waist.

Roe cursed as he got a look at her back. It was obvious she’d hit the pavement at one point, sharp abrasions lined her right shoulder, there were splotches of red already bleeding to purple around her kidneys and ribcage. She didn’t appear to have any trouble breathing, but the damage done to her was clear.

 _The bastard who did this is a dead man_ , thought Roe, laying a very gentle hand on the center of her back, to get her used to his touch before he moved on to the worst of it.

She hissed as he traced his fingers along the puffy red splotches on her ribs where she’d reported the corporal had kicked her. He gradually increased the pressure as he searched for fractures.

Any awkwardness that might once have existed in her undressing in front of him had long since been lost in the frantic dashes to get into uniform from PT gear and back in Toccoa. Her under-things preserved what little modesty she had left, regardless.

"Sorry, _chérie_ ," he said as he pushed down on the center of the inflamed region.

She braced herself and bore it without a sound.

Nothing gave way, or felt odd under his hand. _Thank you, God_ , Roe prayed, putting thoughts of revenge from his mind. Nixon and Winters would take care of him, surely, or Roe would have words with the men – none of which were fit for an enlisted man to say to an officer.

Satisfied the bruises weren’t hiding something more sinister, he pulled away. "You’re lucky, Buchanan. Nothing’s broken. I'm gonna wrap your chest to give your bruised muscles some extra support."

He pulled a bandage out of his med kit and wrapped it around her chest, making sure the binding was tight. When he’d finished, she twisted a bit, testing her range of motion. She gave him a nod. It was good.

“What about your stitches?” he asked.

Ev showed him the wound on her arm. It had only been a few weeks since he’d pulled a chunk of a building from it and despite the promising start the wound had made, it was bleeding again. He cursed again and pulled out his sewing kit. He’d completely missed the blood focusing on her ribs. _Foolish_ , he thought, angry at himself and the bastard who’d set back a good week of healing.

“I’m not a surgeon,” he reminded her. “Stop giving me surgeons work to do.”

She accepted his reprimand with a smile. When he was done with his stitching, he pulled a new bandage tight around the wound. At least Ev had enough sense not to be screaming and moaning over a few stitches.

“Anything else I need to know about?” he verified.

“No.”

Roe didn’t really believe her – Ev would say she was fine if she had a bullet wound – but he let it go. “Okay.”

He dug through his med kit to give the woman some privacy while she buttoned up her dress. If she asked him, he was tallying what he needed pick up from the aid station. Honestly, he already knew exactly what he needed, but Ev deserved some privacy.

“I’d better go check on the cookies,” she said.

He took this to mean that she was finished and looked up. She was holding the door open for him, though how she’d gotten up from the bed, let alone crossed the room without him noticing was worrying.

She led him down the stairs. He watched her carefully, making sure her gate was even. If she was in pain, he couldn’t see it.

A stout woman, probably in her late forties, was puttering around the kitchen, putting on a pot of tea if Roe was to judge. She raised a pointed eyebrow when she caught sight of them, and then turned a fierce glare on the medic.

Roe blushed, realizing for the first time what it might look like to someone – him being in Ev’s room alone – especially after Ev had been separated out from the men because it was inappropriate for a young woman to sleep in the same room as one man, let alone a whole platoon of them.

It was a shame. Roe missed having Ev in the barracks.

The longer the silent standoff continued, the sterner the woman’s stare became.

Roe shuffled under her stare, feeling like he’d just been caught by his mama.

His eyes flicked to Ev, and his uncertainty turned to a frown.

Buchanan was amused, curse her. He glared at her and she smiled back, sweet as could be.

After a beat longer, Ev decided to take pity on him. "Margaret," she said, "this is Eugene Roe. He's a medic in my Company."

The woman face lit up with understanding and her whole demeanor went from stern to welcoming in a blink. "Lovely to meet you, dear,” Margaret said with a smile. “And how is our girl, then? Not too bad off, I hope?"

"No ma'am,” he said. “Just bruises mostly. She should heal up in a week or so."

“That’s quite the accent, where are you from, Doctor?”

While he exchanged pleasantries and small talk, Ev wandered into the kitchen and took up a knife. It looked like she was dicing up the remains of her chocolate stockpile. There were fresh cookies steaming away on a towel, tickling Roe’s nose with the tempting scent of home.

While Roe absently reassured Margaret that Ev would be back to normal in a few weeks. Ev added what looked like peanut butter to the chocolate.

 _Jesus, is she trying to kill me?_ thought Roe. He wanted a cookie, wanted it more than just about anything right at this moment, but Ev had been through enough today. He wasn’t going to ask.

"Good, good,” said Margaret, obviously indulging his absent nods.

Roe was ashamed to realize that he’d stopped paying attention to the conversation a while ago.

“She had me worried. Will you be staying for tea? I've got a fresh pot on," Margaret asked, nodding towards the kettle on the stove.

"No, ma'am. Thank you, but I've got to go report to Captain Winters, then head over to supply."

"Pity. Well, I suppose you'd best be on your way then." Mrs. Margaret smiled and led him to the door.

"Thank you so much for stopping by to check on our girl," the English lady said again as she opened the door for him.

Roe shook his head, feeling uncomfortable with her gratitude as he stepped outside. "Just doing my job."

"All the same, it's nice to know Evelyn has other people looking out for her."

He nodded at her and smiled shyly, then turned to leave, thinking: _These are good people. I’m glad they’re looking after Ev._

"Gene," Ev’s voice held him up. She came out of the house, a bundled napkin full of cookies in her hands. She handed them to him with a soft: "Thanks."

From the way she was smiling, he knew she wasn’t just talking about him coming to check on her.

He gave her a nod and watched her walk back inside, skirt fluttering around her shins, and he wondered what she had been like before the war. Everybody was already so different from whom they’d been when they’d first started training, and maybe they were better for it. All Gene knew was he'd take Ev in dirty ODs with a gun in her hand, over Ev in a dress any day – every man in Easy Company would likely say the same.

 _Still_ , he thought as he walked up the lane towards the aid station, sunshine warming his dark hair, _the cookies are nice._

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always loved and appreciated.


	16. Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve deals with trouble behind the lines. 
> 
> “There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship.” – Thomas Aquinas
> 
> Now: Roe spills the beans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous Beta's: Aniset, Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman. And Helianza for her help with the French! Lots of love to each and every one of you.

-Chapter 16-

Roe had a cookie hanging out of his mouth as he entered the supply office.

 _What the hell did she put in these things_? he thought. _They’re better than my maman’s cookies. I didn’t think that was possible._

Roe decided that as soon as he was done here, he was going to take them and hide them in his footlocker. He set the napkin full of cookies down on the counter as he signed for his new supplies, blatantly ignoring the hungry look the supply officer was aiming at his delicious snack. He gave the man a "don't even think about it" look, and scooped up the bundle again, cradling the precious cargo to his chest on his way out the door.

"Hey, Doc!"

 _Shit._ He’d almost made it, too. Roe turned to face the man he hadn't noticed loitering by the side of the supply office.

Luz.

_Crap._

"What?" he asked, popping the last bit of his cookie into his mouth, and hurried past the man. He was a medic. He was always in a hurry.

If Gene could just make it to his billet, he could probably lose Luz along the way.

"Where the hell'd you get cookies from?" Luz shouted after him. The shorter man pushed off the wall and hurried after the Doc, stalking him all the way back to the stables they were billeted in. He reached for the napkin, presumably the source of the mouthwatering aroma. Roe smacked his hand, hard.

"Keep your grimy mitts offa my cookies, ya cooyon!"

"Ow!" Luz rubbed his hand. "Well, where'd you get 'em?"

"Sergeant Buchanan made ‘em."

Silence.

Roe realized his mistake a beat too late. He turned to stop Luz from going and harassing Buchanan, but the radioman was already out the door hollering, "Hey guys! Buchanan made cookies!"

_Damn it._

Roe shook his head and hurried to stash his cookies. _Ev will forgive me_ , he hoped. _I’d better go check on her when I finish, just in case._

He hoped by the time he went back, Ev would have finished her baking and be willing to part with some more. There was no such thing as too many cookies.

-

The next time the doorbell rang, Eve burned herself on the oven door.

She was still cursing when she opened the door to be confronted by Luz's begging eyes. It could only mean one thing.

 _Gene sold me out, damn him_.

"Fuck, Buchanan! What the hell happened?" Luz shouted, getting a load of the new colors lining her cheekbone and pushing inside.

"It's nothing. Winters handled it," she said closing the door with a frown. Hopefully no one had heard him shouting like that. Saying Winters had it in hand should have been the end of it, but Eve knew George Luz was one stubborn bastard when he wanted to be. She pointed a stern finger at him. "You can't tell the others, they'd only get riled up and it's already been taken care of, understand?"

He didn't seem to get it, still staring at her with abject horror.

Eve sighed. "If I give you a cookie, will you promise to keep it to yourself?"

His face turned into a grin and Eve realized her mistake with a scowl.

He was about to say something when the doorbell rang again. Eve turned to look at it, puzzled. What on earth was happening today? Months she'd lived in this house, and never had the bell rung so often.

She opened the door a crack. Liebgott, Talbert, Malarkey, Guarnere, and Toye were all on the stoop. Liebgott already leaning over to ring the bell again.

She could hear Margaret cursing about the blasted bell from the second floor.

Busted, Eve sighed and opened the door wider.

"What the fuck!" cried Liebgott when he saw her face.

Eve sighed and ran a hand through her still short hair. She might as well get it over with. "Some Dog Company Corporal took a swing at me, drunk off his ass. Winters took care of it. What're you guys-" she was cut off by a general uproar.

"Wait, what?" Toye started.

"Who the fuck would even –" Liebgott shouted over him.

Malarkey barely even let him start, adding, "Shit, Buchanan. You okay?"

Eve looked at them, confused at their outrage. They'd all gotten into their fair share of pub brawls. Fighting was part of being a soldier. "I'm fine," she said. "Roe already came by and told me so."

She watched as the men glanced at each other, working themselves up into a rage, so she cut them off. "Why are you fellas here?"

They were looking at each other for a different reason now, shifting their weight. "We heard there were cookies?" said Malarkey, obviously voted the speaker by silent committee.

Eve scowled and sighed. _Goddamnit Gene_ , she thought. _You could have been a bit more subtle._

She gave in to the pleading, pathetic faces. She opened the door wider and gestured for them to come in.

They scampered through the door like a bunch of overeager puppies, greeting Luz with knowing smirks, as though they weren’t just as guilty of begging.

She led them to the kitchen. "I can only give you one cookie each. They're supposed to be for my host family," she said as they all congregated around the kitchen table. She brought over a plate with a cookie for each of them. While they were at it, she pulled out the trappings for dinner.

The cookies vanished in record time.

She shooed the men out. “Surely you all have something better to do than loiter around here. Get.”

They left, laughing.

It was barely an hour later when they all came back, bearing groceries.

"We brought groceries!" said Luz like she couldn’t see them in his hand. He handed them over. "Can we stay for dinner?"

"What?" asked Eve, her arms full of produce.

"That was the best cookie I've ever had," said Malarkey. "Please cook us real food for dinner so we don't have to go suffer though the mess?"

In the wake of so many pleading eyes, she crumbled. She led her troop of misfits into the kitchen where Margaret was cooking. The short, dark-haired woman turned from where she was washing the potatoes.

"Ma'am? It seems we'll be having a few extra guests for dinner," said Eve, indicating the now awkward boys behind her.

She started sorting through the groceries. Somehow they'd managed to get three bags of ingredients that didn't go together at all. She tried to organize it into some kind of a meal, but it was hopeless. They'd need more, but also a bit more cohesion.

A tingling on the back of her neck told Eve that someone was watching her. She looked up and promptly blushed at Margret's bewildered look as her eyes flicked over the men who'd invaded her kitchen. Before today, Evelyn had never had _any_ visitors, much less a herd of them all at once.

"What's this?" the woman asked.

"Apparently, Roe let it slip that there were homemade cookies here," said Eve, trying not to shift sheepishly. “They were wondering if they could stay for dinner. They even brought groceries.”

"Ah," Margaret smiled and looked around at the men. "Well then, the more the merrier, I suppose. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

Margaret set down the potatoes and took in the assorted groceries. She rinsed her hands and dried them on the cloth tucked into her apron. Methodically, she went through the groceries with an experienced eye, noting that the boys had bought a lot of the flash items and none of the staples.

“I think we have a good start on spaghetti, maybe some meatballs, gnocchi too if we can get the eggs for it. But we’ll need more eggs and some butter. It won’t be cheap either. I’ll pop down to the market."

“If you don’t mind?” said Eve. “The boys will help pay for it, of course. Spaghetti sounds great.”  
She still remembered Perconte's complaints about Army noodles and ketchup; hopefully Margaret had a recipe that didn’t come out of a can.

“Paying might not be the problem; rationing will be. I might know of a place, friend of a friend who’ll have something to spare. A few more mouths shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

"Actually, kind of a lot of mouths," said Luz. Eve looked at him. "What? The other guys wanted to try your cooking too."

Margret found it sweet that Eve had friends who were so eager to come check on her. She could tell by the not very subtle glances the boys would throw at Eve's bruised face that they were concerned – and very possibly angry – by what had happened to her. The other woman was ignoring them – which was adorable – as she gathered various vegetables from the groceries now strewn across the table.

"About how many are coming, dear?" she asked Luz, who was the apparent instigator of this whole debacle.

"Maybe ten more guys?" he guessed.

"Well," said Margret. "Let's set up the garden, we'll have to eat outside if we're to all fit around the table."

Eve nodded and got the cutting board out to get a start on chopping the vegetables.

Margaret and Charles had their own garden in their backyard, which was rather large considering how close to the center of town they were. Margaret smiled at the nervous looking young men and slipped by them to grab her coat and purse.

Eve looked up to see her friends staring at her. Malarkey was watching her with awe and a bit of horror. "What?" she asked.

When he didn't respond quickly enough, she narrowed her eyes, daring him to say something about her doing women's work. Or the dress.

"Nothing," said Malarkey quickly, smartly looking down to avoid her glare. Luz started laughing at him.

Eve grabbed her cutting board and took it over to Luz, setting it and the vegetables down in front of him. He looked at her shocked.

"Since we're now having guests, you'll all be helping out." Eve told them. "Malarkey, you're Irish, you can start peeling the potatoes." She handed him one and a small knife.

"Potatoes?" said Malarkey, looking at the items he had suddenly acquired. "I thought you were making spaghetti?"

"Yes, but there's no way I can make enough spaghetti to feed everyone, so we're going to finish the meal that I've already started. Which means we need more potatoes."

"Liebgott, you and Toye go with Mrs. Margaret to help her get things from the market. Let anyone you see who's planning to join us know that they'll need to come over and help out if they want any of the food."

"You got it boss lady," said Lieb as he and Toye went to join a patiently waiting Margaret.

The older woman caught Eve's eye with a wink.

Guarnere and Talbert slipped into the kitchen, looking ready for a battle.

Eve hadn’t even noticed they’d been absent until they were back. Come to think of it, they had been abnormally quiet. She narrowed her eyes at the two. Guarnere grinned sharply, while Tab evaded her gaze.

_Yep. Something’s going on._

She decided to ignore it. She was sure whatever it was they needed privacy for would be revealed eventually.

"Do you know how to make pasta, Guarnere?" she asked instead. He nodded, having done it thousands of times in his childhood with his Nona. He got out the flour and eggs and began combining the two into dough.

"Tab, can you help me here?" she turned to finish kneading the dough. "I'll teach you how," she said when he saw his uncertain face. He rolled up his sleeves and got to it.

-

Back from the market with what supplies he could carry, Liebgott watched Buchanan covertly with something like awe. It had been easy to overlook the dress when her face was black and blue, but it was a firm reminder that she was, and had always been a girl.

The dress itself was nothing fancy, just a loose, button down dress flowing freely to her shins, and bare feet. She hadn't bothered with makeup thank God, or he might have made Roe come back to take another look at her for head trauma. The bruises on her face stood out in sharp juxtaposition to the near picture of femininity she made, but the way she brushed off their concern reminded them that she probably would have been more comfortable in dirty ODs. Liebgott felt grateful for it. Buchanan was a fighting girl, being gussied up in a dress couldn't hide it.

As he settled into his task for preparing the meal, he reminded himself for what must’ve been the hundredth time that Buchanan could handle herself; that this was one girl they didn't need to go tearing off to play knight in shining armor for.

Liebgott had been all for breaking into wherever the MPs had stashed that piece of shit and beating a lesson into his skull so he wouldn't forget: No one messed with Easy Company.

Ev had been a part of Easy near from the beginning. She was as much one of them as the Eagle was. Her place in the Company wasn't even a question. She belonged with them; she'd proven it over and over and often enough for anyone to be satisfied. So they'd convinced the replacements to respect her, largely because they themselves respected her. Honestly, Lieb couldn't imagine going back to war without her.

He hadn't realized at the time, but she'd managed to weather Sobel all on her own before she was integrated into the group. And here she was, looking so near the dainty girl he'd assumed her to be, looking like she wouldn't even think of holding a gun, let alone kill a man with one.

And yet, he knew she could, because she did.

He only wished he'd seen it sooner, back when they’d first met. He remembered only too well what kind of an ass he'd been to her the first day. He wanted to go back and punch some sense into that guy. Maybe he'd be better friends with her now if he had. But Liebgott knew that it was just a matter of time and persistence.

Ev was an extraordinary person. Something about her made Liebgott want to be around her. She'd surpassed all expectations, been a better shot than anyone could have hoped for, and done it all quietly, without boasting or bragging about it. He didn't remember who'd said it, but she was the scariest woman he'd ever known, despite having yet to lose her temper. It took a special kind of woman to put up with men, to not complain about the dirt, bugs, blood, and any number of other things women generally squealed about.

And most amazing of all, she hadn't held a grudge. He knew the kind of shit they'd pulled on her back at Toccoa. Hell, he'd participated in most of it. Other than it taking a few months for her to understand that they'd changed, she treated no one differently than the others, even though Liebgott knew that she was well aware who the main culprits of the mischief against her were. Somehow, she was able to work with all of them, any of them. It made her a damn fine sergeant; one he'd follow anywhere she asked.

That didn't stop him from sneaking more cookies when she wasn't looking.

-

When Margret returned, her band of helpers had expanded to five strapping soldiers, even after sending both Liebgott and Toye ahead with supplies that needed to get in the oven sooner than the rest (and several more sent on ahead to help with the cooking and prep work). She surveyed the crowd in her kitchen.

It was so odd to see all these soldiers – young boys in her eyes – wielding kitchen knives instead of rifles on each and every available countertop under Eve's watchful eyes.

There was a group at the table harassing their fellows as they fought with the pasta grinder, while the ones at the counter all laughed as a short man with floppy hair reached for a cookie, only to have his hand smacked by Eve who didn't even appear to be looking at him. Another man was draped in fresh cut pasta, extending up and down his arms waiting to go into the boiling pot that was already filled to capacity.

Eve spooned out a noodle and handed it over for someone to taste. The short, dark haired man shook his head and she left the water on a while longer while he mixed up seasonings and breadcrumbs into a bowl. He confiscated the mince from the bags and began making meatballs before directing two loitering guys, who'd been busy mocking the man with floppy hair, to get to work.

The smell of rich tomatoes and basil tickled the matron's nose and she savored the laughter that filled the house. All in all, Margret was reminded of the time before Henry left, when his mates would come over for tea and then never leave. Apparently, Eve had found the companionship she'd been looking for.

 _Good for her_ , Margaret thought.

The boys helping her didn’t wait, eagerly wading in to heckle their working friends vulgarly as they distributed more supplies.

Eve turned and caught Margaret’s eye. The girl looked over the kitchen with fresh eyes, seeing the mess that had appeared beneath the mayhem. The kitchen was a bit of a disaster, what with flour spraying the countertops, scraps of food littering the floor, garbage overflowing, and grease snapping away on the stovetop.

"Oops," apologized Eve with a sheepish shrug.

Margaret laughed, rolled up her sleeves, and jumped right in, as efficiently as any general taking up the reins and bringing order back to the boisterous kitchen brigade.

-

Charles walked up the lane to his home, tired from work and looking forward to whatever Margaret had decided to prepare for dinner.

As his house came into view, he paused. There were rather more lights on than usual. And the noise coming from within was baffling.

He strode to the door and let himself in, unsurprised that the door was unlocked. Margaret rarely bothered with such things since anyone visiting had the good manners to knock or ring the bell she was always complaining about.

 _Good heavens_ , thought Charles, taking in the sheer amount of olive green clad men invading his parlor. _People_.

They seemed respectful enough, he decided after scanning the room for damage. The newspapers had been in an uproar about the damage to London after the soldiers had come back to celebrate the successful invasion.

A veteran of his own battles with Germany, Charles strode between the knots of men with the command he’d earned as an NCO in the British Royal Navy, searching for his wife and the young woman they’d taken in.

It was strange that so many people had come to visit all at once, when they’d never had the pleasure of even one visiting before. The atmosphere wasn’t quiet, or respectful, which quelled some of the worry in his mind that something had gone wrong. Rather, it was almost like a party of some kind, a merry gathering of soldiers and even a few NCOs and officers, if those symbols on their arms still meant the same ranks they had back in his day.

He pushed his way into the kitchen.

“Charles!” Margaret greeted him with a large smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Charles smiled and went to kiss his wife.

When she’d been properly greeted, he turned his attention to the woman who’d frozen upon his entrance. Quick eyes took in the loose dress she was wearing, one of the frocks Margaret had set aside last summer to donate to the next church sale, and the darkening bruise on her face.

Charles crossed the room in a few quick strides and tucked a finger under Evelyn’s chin, turning her face to get a better look at the bruise.

He nodded. “You’ll be all right. How’s the other man?”

“Worse,” said Eve as she gave him a relieved smile.

“Good. So,” he said, surveying the room, “what’s for dinner?”

Eve laughed and showed him the feast they were creating to feed all those mouths invading his house.

-

Dinner went rather well. Guarnere's pasta, Eve's sauce, and Perconte's meatballs went over smashingly. It contrasted well with the very English meat and potatoes dish that they’d been making before she was inundated with guests. Each man had seconds, and there were over twenty of them. They'd shown up in ones and twos, turning what could have been another, quiet, peaceful meal between Eve, Charles, and Margret into the kind of festive feast usually reserved for holidays.

Even Roe made another appearance, looking guilty as he surveyed the considerable number of soldiers who'd invaded her temporary quarters.

Eve gave him a baleful look before smiling. She didn't really mind that the guys were here.

"Are you hungry?" she asked the medic.

He shrugged, which was answer enough.

"Come on," she said, and led him through the knots of people to the kitchen. She made him up a plate and handed it to the man before wading back to the party - which was in full swing by now.

Eve had never had more appreciation for the cooks in the mess than she did right then, sitting wearily on the ground as the stragglers washed the last of the dishes. By mutual decree, those that hadn't helped cook cleaned up the mess.

The evening passed with serenity.

Eve was watching the impromptu dodge-ball game that some of the boys had started in the garden. Somehow, no one seemed to want to leave. Even Winters and Nixon had showed up to eat and be merry. She hoped they would delay or maybe even cancel the drills tomorrow because it was well after 2100 and the party was nowhere near slowing down. She covered a yawn.

It was a night Eve would always remember with fondness.

And then she decided to get up and savor the night while it was still happening and have a little fun, joining in the game as a ball went careening inches from her nose. She glared at the guilty party, Luz – _I should’ve guessed_ , she thought – and grabbed the ball to retaliate.

_Game on._

-

Things changed after that night. Eve found herself lingering after drill, enfolded in the shenanigans and jokes that she’d been the butt of a year ago.

“And then, the broad’s leg comes crashing through the ceiling. ‘What was that,’ he said, Peacock did. ‘It looks like a broad’s leg to me,’ I said.”

“You didn’t,” said Eve, eyes dancing.

“You’re damn right I did. I almost had him going too, until the broad comes down and says, ‘Oh, Billy.’ My goose was cooked.

“Turns out Carson had his own broad stashed up there too, and Peacock, you know, would go off and raise holy hell with the kid, so, I claimed ‘em both.”

“And now you’re on KP,” finished Toye, shaking his head with a laugh. He clapped an unsympathetic hand to the man’s shoulder.

“Have fun peeling potatoes, Gonorrhea.”

“So did you take up with ‘em both, Bill?”

“Eh, Bill here don’t know what to do with one lady, let alone two,” snarked Liebgott.

“That’s not what your ma said last night, Lieb,” Guarnere retaliated.

The boys started laughing, but Eve figured she should probably take her leave before she out wore her welcome.

“Where you goin’ Ev?” called Liebgott.

She smiled, trying to think up an excuse that wouldn’t sound like she was purposefully running away from them.

“We were all gonna go get a beer at the pub, you coming?”

“I’d better not,” she said, vividly remembering the last drunk man she’d encountered.

“Come on,” Malarky wheedled. “The food’s pretty shit, but we might get some free drinks off the Limeys, especially with someone as pretty as you with us.”

Eve shifted, uncomfortable. “That’s all right. Margaret is expecting me at home, maybe next time?”

The boys exchanged a look amongst themselves she didn’t understand.

“I’ll walk you home,” offered Liebgott.

“You don’t have to,” she objected.

“It’s no problem. I’ll meet you fellas later. Let’s go, Ev.”

Eyebrows raised, Eve followed Liebgott up the road, catching up with the man’s stalking gate easily.

“You know you’re really not doing me any favors,” said Eve as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What’re you talking about,” said Liebgott.

“This, you walking me home,” she said. “I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what this is,” protested Liebgott, incredulity lining his frame. “What’re you kidding me with this?”

“No,” said Eve. “If that’s not what it is, what is it?”

“Look, just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you should have to. That’s what friends are for, to look out for each other.”

“Friends?” said Eve, blinking as the new concept hit her. “You’re not just being nice to me because some drunkard wailed on me?”

“Jesus Christ! Of course I’m pissed some asshole tried to get the drop on you. Friends give a shit about each other and watch each other’s back. I thought you –” said Liebgott, getting visibly angrier with every sentence, working himself into a rage. “Goddamn it, Ev! I’m your friend. We’re your friends! We’re allowed to be nice to you. So stop avoiding us and ducking out every time we try to do something with you. If you wanna go out and have a fucking drink, we’ll take care of you! Just have a little fucking trust that we’ve got your fucking back!”

And with that, before she could even think of anything to say, he stormed off.

Frustrated, and angry, and hurt, and all kinds of things she didn’t understand why she was feeling, Eve took the long way home to try and sort out her thoughts.

She was angry because Liebgott was angry, and she didn’t understand why he felt like he had a right to be angry at her when she was the one being mollycoddled like some helpless damsel; as though she hadn’t put two years into proving herself as capable as any of the boys. She felt like she’d gone back five spaces all because some drunkard picked her to wail on.

She spent that night thinking about what Liebgott had said.

“I just don’t understand,” she told Margaret over tea. “They hate me. They’ve always hated me. Why –”

“Oh, child,” said Margaret. “I’ll wager you’re not the same person you were a year ago, why would any of the lads be different? Maybe it just took them some time to warm up to you?”

Eve was still lost.

“Sleep on it, dear,” suggested Margaret. “Things will be clearer in the morning.”

In the morning, that anger – which she’d felt so keenly the night before – had vanished. Only confusion was left in its place.

Eve knew only one resolution for that and went to talk to the only man in her unit that could be relied upon to make sense. He was the only person she trusted to be honest with her.

She found Roe taking inventory of medical supplies in the makeshift infirmary with the replacement medic Ralph Spina, showing him the ropes. "Hey, Roe?" she called.

He looked up and saw her waiting politely outside the supply cupboard. The medic gave her a smile and set down his clipboard. "Ev, what can I do for you?"

“Are we friends?" Eve just needed to be sure.

"Course we are," he said, frowning. He gave Spina a look. The other man just nodded and left, skirting his way around Eve with a small smile for her when she met his eyes. Roe focused on his patient. Whatever it was must be serious if she felt she needed to test that she had his confidence before disclosing information. "You all right?"

"Are Liebgott and I friends?" she asked.

Roe's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Yes."

"Oh," she said.

He looked at her and realized that was all she wanted to ask. The worry that had knit his brow vanished, incredulity taking its place. "You didn't know?"

"Not until he just yelled at me about it, no."

"Well you are," he said. "You've been my friend for quite a while, _chérie_."

"I think I knew that," she said, trying to reassure the hurt look off his face. "I just didn't want to get my hopes up."

He nodded. He could understand where the wariness came from. It hadn't been an easy two years for her. After being denied friendship for so long from the only people around her, maybe she'd just become incapable of reconciling their overtures of friendship with their past behavior.

"Talbert's your friend too," he said. She looked up at him, puzzled, so he clarified. "Has been ever since you got him those seasickness pills."

"Oh."

"I think if you look around, you'll find that you have more friends than you think."

She looked at him for a long moment. "I’m not sure if I remember how to be friends with someone," she admitted.

He gave her a queer look. "You already are."

She gave him a smile he'd never seen before: small, but it lit up her face in such a way that suddenly she was the prettiest woman he'd seen in a long time. "Thank you, Eugene," she said and slipped away.

Roe gave himself a shake and went back to his inventory.

-

_Dear Eve,_

_How are you doing little sister? I hope the war is treating you well. I’m not sure where we’re at, but I know it’s somewhere in the Pacific, hunting Japs. My CO saw fit to promote me to Commander. I think its equivalent to a Major rank in the Army – but Army ranks don’t make any sense to me, so I’m not sure._

_I like the men I’m working with, and you’ve got to like the men you’re working with when you’re stuck on the boat all the time. I think if I was to hit dry land, I’d stagger around like a drunkard. I know you would laugh at me._

_You’re brother is doing all right._

_My thoughts and prayers are with you, sister. I said some things to you when I left. I want you to know I’m proud to be your brother._

_I always knew you could do it._

_All my love,_  
_Alex_

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first Arc of this story! We made it! It's been a long ride already, but there's so much more to come. Thank you so much to all of you who've been with me so far. 
> 
> Updates are still every Thursday. Any and all feedback is appreciated and loved. Thanks for reading.


	17. The Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve discovers what friendship looks like.
> 
> "I learned there are troubles of more than one kind. Some come from ahead, others come from behind. But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready, you see. Now my troubles are going to have trouble with me."– Dr. Seuss
> 
> Now: Easy Company almost goes to war several times, and goes to the pub instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Beta's: Atman, FandomlyCroft, and Laura001.

-Chapter 17-

It was another gray day in Aldbourne, England. Easy Company was gathered in the mess hall wearing dress greens and celebrating the return of some of their wounded; particularly Gordon, (who’d been hit twice – once in the shoulder; once in the calf, and had a boil lanced on his shin, earning himself a grand total of three Purple Hearts) and Talbert, who was fully recovered from being stabbed by Smith on the outskirts of Carentan. Sure, they’d arrived a few days ago, but really, any excuse for a celebration was welcome.

It was a lively gathering.

Eve had arrived early and claimed the middle of the bench. She was still surprised when her table filled up. Bill nearly started a fistfight trying to claim the seat on her right. Luz was across from her, a smoke dangling from his fingers as he tried to silence Hoobler, who was hollering for Bill’s attention from the table behind them.

Dinner had been a good affair. The food had been better for the good company, but – if Eve was being honest – not nearly of the same caliber as the meal they’d put together for themselves at Margaret and Charles’s home. Still, every plate had been wiped clean and they were all enjoying themselves.

She sat back and listened to "Smokey" Gordon recite the poem he'd written while laid up at the hospital. "The Night of the Bayonet," he’d called it. The story outlined the tale of Talbert being stabbed by Smith, refashioned into an epic length poem.

Eve laughed along with the crowd as Gordon actually used " _tout suite_ " to make the rhyme work.

Movement at the barn’s side door caught her eye. Nixon ducked into the room, heading straight for where Winters was tucked into the front corner with Welsh, Compton, and Lipton. They bent together, talking, and Winters's whole body sagged under an invisible weight.

 _This is it_ , she thought, watching Winters leave the other officers to confer amongst themselves with dread. _We're going back_.

She heard a sharp voice behind her drawl, "I'm going back to barracks."

Something in the cadence was familiar, but she was prepared to ignore it until Bill stopped the redheaded replacement with a hand on his chest.

"Hey, you Heffron?"

"Yeah?"

"Where're you from?" Bill demanded. Eve rolled her eyes at the tough-guy act, and started gathering her dishes when she caught the smile lurking at the corner of Bill's mouth. In her periphery, she saw Skip's face get excited. Apparently, he thought Guarnere was going to haul back and beat on the boy.

"Who's askin'?"

"You from Philadelphia?"

"South Philly, yeah," the kid answered Bill, confused and becoming affronted.

He didn't realize what Guarnere was doing for him yet, but Eve did.

This was Heffron's golden ticket into the group. Guarnere’s word was practically law with the Toccoa guys, and once Luz – who just so happened to have a front row seat – got involved, he'd be accepted into the fold with nary a problem. The same just couldn't be said about the other replacements.

"Ah, I could tell.” Guarnere sneered, letting the kid sweat for a long moment before he broke. "17th street," said Guarnere, letting his smile bloom as his face melted into a "gotcha" look.

"Yeah? Front Street!" Heffron was smiling now as he shook Guarnere's hand enthusiastically. "Hey!"

"Com'mere, sit down," Babe slid in next to Luz, who was looking bemused at this predicament.

"Fuck, you see that?" said Skip to Martin as Guarnere and Heffron started talking about the characters they both knew from around South Philly. Everyone was always eager to talk about home.

Eve got up to go.

"Hey, where you goin'?" Guarnere demanded, interrupting his conversation as she stood.

Eve raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to answer when Gordon called a hush.

“Since you weren’t wounded by the enemy, and therefore ineligible for a purple heart, we decided to take matters into our own hands,” said Gordon, giving Talbert one of his medals.

Eve clapped enthusiastically, joining the raucous uproar of approval.

Liebgott got up from his seat next to Hoobler, presumably to leave with her when Lip called for their attention. Liebgott grumbled, but sat back down with Eve to listen to what the man had to say.

"Couple of announcements, men!" Lip said loud enough that his voice carried over the lingering chatter. "First – listen up!" Lip paused to wait for the noise to die down. "First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been canceled." A cheer went up.

Lip put his hand up for silence and waited until he got it before continuing. "Secondly, all passes are hereby revoked. We're heading back to France, so pack up all your gear; we will not be returning to England boys."

Eve sighed in resignation and looked around the hall, taking a good long look at the healthy men around her. _This is it_ , she thought. If the next drop was anything like D-Day, a good portion of these men wouldn't even make it to the ground to die bloody.

"Anyone who has not made out a will, head to the supply office. Trucks depart from Membury at 0700. As you were," Lip finished and left, killing the mood completely.

Men slowly took stock of each other as Eve just had, lingering over faces of their friends, trying to imprint their comrades in their mind as happy and whole so they could remember this even if their last sight of their buddy was of him screaming in agony as he bled out under a medic's hand.

Eve was one of the first people who left the room.

She knew she should go back to Margaret's house and pack her bags, but she couldn't make herself just yet. Instead, she found one of the many fields around Aldbourne and lay on her back in the grass, to relish gazing at the blue sky and green trees while she still could appreciate them. Eve finally took a deep breath and got up, brushing off the loose grass and went to go take her last shower and pack her bags.

She ran into Malarkey as he made his way out of Mrs. Lamb’s launderette. She paused, taking in the man's blank expression and the two bundles of laundry under his arm.

"Malark?" she asked. "What's up with the extra laundry?"

He met her eyes. "The Army didn't bother picking up Lieutenant Meehan's laundry."

Eve's face shuttered closed.

Lieutenant Meehan had never turned up on Normandy; neither had anybody else in his stick. Eve was not alone in believing that the plane had gone down. If the Army hadn’t bothered picking up the lieutenant’s laundry, they certainly hadn’t bothered with anyone else’s either.

"Okay, we'll fix that," she said, mind already turning over the problem. "We'll run a collection or something, ask the guys to donate whatever English currency they've got left over so we can pay Mrs. Lamb to get it, and for the postage send it home."

Malarkey's face cleared, relieved to have a plan of action. "Got it," he said with a smile. "You take the mess hall. I'll take the barracks?"

Eve nodded and walked back to the mess.

When she got there, she tried asking for quiet, hollering: "Listen up!" and of course no one did. No one even noticed her. Eve sighed and brought her fingers to her lips and blew. An ear-piercing whistle cut through every conversation. She smiled in satisfaction, glad she still knew how to do that after so many years of not practicing.

"Thank you," she said, as though they'd behaved politely all along. "Listen up. Mrs. Lamb has several unclaimed packets of laundry from the guys who didn’t make it back. Sergeant Malarkey and I are running a collection so we can pay her and ship the clothes back to their families." The men were quiet, not having even considered this. "So," she said, "since we're not coming back to England, if you could spread the word to donate any and all English currency you no longer have a use for, we'd appreciate it." She looked around, already seeing heads bobbing and hands fishing in pockets. "Thank you for your time."

She ducked out the door.

Within an hour, Easy Company had pooled their remaining funds together and had more than enough to pay for all of the laundry left behind at Mrs. Lambs by people who didn't make it back from Normandy. The men didn't need the coinage; they weren't coming back to England anyway and there was no time to spend it with them leaving tomorrow.

That night, they sent the clothes, still bundled, back to the families of the men with the extra they'd gathered and with a letter from Winters about each man. It wasn't nearly enough to honor their friends, the heroes they'd reluctantly left behind, but it was something, and that was better than nothing.

-

“Who was that?” Edward “Babe” Heffron asked his new pal Bill Guarnere. “Was that her?”

“Who?” said Bill, looking out for a USO starlet of some kind. “Where?”

“Just left,” said Babe. “Could’a sworn it was a dame.”

“That’s Ev,” said Guarnere, eyeing Babe. “What’s it to ya?”

“That’s her? The girl? She’s still here? Jesus, I didn’t know we’d be taking the dame into combat with us.”

“Hey!” barked Bill, getting the kid’s attention. “Don’t you worry about Ev Buchanan. She can take care of herself. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to her about shooting and leave her alone otherwise, got it?”

Babe put his hands up in surrender. “Just askin’.”

“Well, don’t,” said Bill. “She’s one of us. A Toccoa veteran through and through, and that’s all you or any of the other replacements needs to know, ya hear?”

“It’s just…” Babe said, unwilling to let it go just yet, but caught sight of Bill’s face and started again. “What’s it like, having a girl in the unit?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed. “Just like havin’ another guy in the unit.”

“Seriously? Aren’t you worried about her in the field and stuff?”

“If there’s one thing I know about Evelyn Buchanan is that she can take care of herself. Look, don’t listen to those newspapers. If you wanna know about Ev, try askin’ her.”

Babe nodded, thoughtful.

“Good,” said Bill and let it go. “Hey, you ever been to that bakery, you know the ones with the cannoli?”

-

Just as they were boarding the planes, word came down that the mission was scrapped. Patton had overrun their drop zone. His tanks had taken the town and accomplished their mission already.

Feeling both cheated and relieved, Easy Company went back to Aldbourne where they unpacked, drank some more, and tried to prepare the new guys as much as possible for what would be asked of them in the field; trying to figure out who amongst the replacements they could trust to watch their back and who was going to die screaming. Which was silly, because everyone died screaming.

Life continued in a weird state of limbo for Easy Company. On the one hand, they were all well aware that it was only a matter of time before they got pulled for another mission – one that wouldn’t be scrapped – but every time they set up for one, Patton or one of the other Allies would inevitably overrun the drop zone just before they were set to go, sometimes cutting it as close as them already boarding the C-47s before the mission was scrubbed. It became a running joke.

They went back to training. The replacements were still in awe of the Toccoa guys and were quick enough to follow orders, even if they had to be shown a time or two the best way to do things – it wasn't always what they'd been taught before in basic training due to the veteran's experiences in Normandy.

Eve quickly realized that training as a NCO was quite different from training as a regular.

Before D-Day, everything had seemed easy. There was no real work to be done apart from keeping the bored soldiers from killing themselves or the civilians, which she was an expert at by now. Back then, the men already knew what to do; they’d trusted their officers; they’d all felt invincible.

D-Day had been a wake-up call on just how unprepared they all were. As such, there was more pressure than ever on getting it right.

When she was a regular, Eve could rely on her sergeant to tell her the lay of the land and what she needed to do. That was the same, to some extent, being a sergeant. She had a mission target that her lieutenant laid out for her and she was responsible for getting her men to accomplish that mission. Sergeants had to anticipate every little thing and relay it effectively. Instead of being watched over, she was doing the watching.

And it was only now that she understood the true magnitude of that responsibility.

Eve tried to keep her squad in order. The replacements were eager to learn, eager for action and to prove themselves, but the veterans were bored. Training just had nothing on the real thing. They’d been moved back into Second Platoon under Compton, which she was grateful for as he was one of the more competent officers in Easy, and had actually seen combat before unlike several of the new replacements officers, like Shames and Peacock.

Winters tried to keep training interesting by sneaking out live ordnance and ammunition. He was trying to give the replacements a taste of the racket of a firefight. It still wasn’t anything close to a real life experience. Nothing could match the fear and rush that came with the knowledge that people were absolutely trying to kill you, the shouting and the half heard instructions, the chaos that was inevitable.

But the live ordinance and the suggestion of potential danger gave all of them more focus. Hopefully, it would be enough to make the lessons stick when they faced the chaos of war.

It was a strange position, to be in charge of training men who had resented her very presence so recently, but only when she allowed herself to think about it overmuch. For the most part, Eve slid into the role easily.

The oddest part was witnessing the shift in the new replacements, mere boys fresh off the ship. For the first few days, the new boys had seen the patch on her arm and treated her like any other veteran sergeant, respectfully, but generally shy.

It was only after a few days that that she noticed the change. Almost overnight, men who’d been respectful started avoiding her. Each sneer from a replacements was like being thrown back to the frosty days of her early tenure at Toccoa. Eve hadn’t realized how much the hostility around her had lessened until she’d been faced with it afresh from the new boys.

It was only upon overhearing a whispered conversation did she understand why the replacement’s attitude towards her had turned.

“That’s her, the _girl_. Did you see that article about her in the Times?”

Eve wasn’t ignorant of her reputation in the States. The newspapers made it perfectly clear that she’d most likely gone through training on her back, and through the war hiding behind the lines.

It was fine, she tried to tell herself, a lot of the veterans from Easy Company had felt that way in the beginning. Those same men now displayed their implicit trust in her openly. She’d proven her worth to them, and they hadn’t allowed themselves to fall back on old prejudices.

It was apparent that the bonds they'd forged in combat hadn’t been broken, but rather solidified.

The wave of newcomers didn’t – couldn’t – understand what she and the other Toccoa men had seen and done in Normandy. What they themselves were soon in for. They hadn't seen sixty-five of their friends die on D-Day; just empty chairs now.

Eve mourned the men who’d been lost, even those she’d never known personally. She wondered why she was still alive when they were gone, tried to be worthy of their sacrifice; tried to keep the men under her command from making the mistakes that had proven fatal; did her best to keep them alive.

And then, as if by magic, the replacements seemed to get over it – this unavoidable truth that she was a woman and a veteran sergeant – and started treating her like the later more than the former.

It had taken the Toccoa men months to stop treating her like a pariah, over a year before they treated her as anything more than a semi-competent pair of hands. By that scale it was no time at all before the replacements started treating her like a human again, and not a cheap whore. It took only a few weeks before the replacements were back to being civil, if not respectful, but she could tell they did so with disdain.

Within a week of the return of civility, the rumors hissed in tones obviously meant to be overheard, vanished.

Eve had no idea what had put a stop to it. She idly wondered if rumors about her actions in Normandy were the cause. Stories and gossip flew around the town at an alarming rate, and even Evelyn had overheard the rumors about men like Guarnere and Lieutenant Speirs – and their lauded battle prowess and utter lack of fear.

After seeing the glares the Toccoa men offered whispering replacements, she started to wonder if it was the other veterans smoothing her way.

Eve spent most of her time trying to coax the new men in her squad to the level of the Toccoa boys she had left, but trying to get them up to scratch, meant that she spent less time focusing on the veterans – who were fit enough and bored of running through the same drills over and over.

She knew it frustrated the other veterans just as much as it did her, but the kids simply weren't up to the high standards that Toccoa had drilled into the original members of Easy. There hadn't been two years of time for them to train. So instead they were sent through jump school and then on their way.

Eve despaired at her new boys physical endurance. Jackson – the least objectionable of the three in Eve’s limited opinion – had been trained out of whining at least, but he and the other two replacements in her squad – Nelson and Baxter – were laughably far behind. They made up for it a little bit with their eagerness. But eagerness could only take a person so far before they needed the experience to back it up. These boys woefully didn't have much of the latter.

Outside of training, the men of the 506 made good use of their time, gallivanting off to London or wherever their fancy took them in the safety of the British Isles. Well, moderate safety. There were still air raids over the major cities, but nothing that touched them here in Aldbourne.

There were a few marriages too, as the men secured their promises to their English girlfriends.

Eve didn’t go to any of the weddings, she was too polite to go uninvited unlike many of the others, but she heard all about the shenanigans afterwards.

One poor bride was kidnapped on the back of a motorcycle and abandoned in the county over from the wedding chapel on her wedding day.

Stories like these were more common than Eve would have ever believed if she hadn’t heard them all first hand.

She did make a point to congratulate Lieutenant Speirs on his nuptials to an English widow, catching him the day before the event.

“I heard about what the man in my company did, Sergeant,” replied Speirs, his eyes lingering on her still bruised face. “It should never have happened.”

Eve, unsure what to say, was spared the indecision as Speirs nodded and strode away.

It had sounded oddly like a declaration. Thinking back on the rumors that had spread about the man after D-Day, she bravely decided not to question it.

Beyond marriages, there seemed to be a general consensus that the soldiers should celebrate life while they could.

Booze flowed freely and was stronger stuff than they were used to. Eve tried to stay out of it. She didn't want anything to do with men who were drunk – which meant that she avoided Lieutenant Welsh for a while after he found that barrel of cognac. He gave a fair shot at trying to drink it all by himself.

She didn't really blame any of the boys for wanting to let loose – they'd suffered fifty percent casualties in Normandy after all – but she certainly couldn't do it herself. Simply too many variables could come into play if she allowed herself to be intoxicated, including her place in the Airborne, which despite her commander’s reassurances to the contrary, was far from secure.

So when they asked her to join them at the pub, she said no, and that was that.

Well, sometimes.

Her protests didn’t stop the men from dragging her to the pub on occasion despite her wishes. Sometimes, she even had fun, even if she didn’t ever drink enough to enjoy the swill the English called beer.

Tonight, she'd been all set to enjoy a calm night in with a book Margaret insisted she read. _The Hobbit_ had been on the New York Times bestseller list, but Eve had never had time for leisurely reading, and children's books were not something a lady of polite society admitted to enjoying. Poetry and classic literature were all well and good, and Eve was never one to pass up historic chronicles, but that was typically the extent of her voyage into the literary world. She had to admit that this could very well be an exception. The idyllic Shire seemed very similar to the peace she'd found in Aldbourne.

She was settling down to enjoy it when Guarnere and Toye showed up and persuaded her to come down to the pub for a drink. She’d offered up a mild protest, but they dragged her along anyway, insisting.

Guarnere rolled his eyes. “For cryin’ out loud, it’s just a drink.”

With a roll of her own eyes, and a note to Margaret, she let herself be dragged along. She could continue protesting, and maybe even win this round, but if she didn’t give in every once in a while, they would either stop asking her along, or they wouldn’t be willing to let it go if she ever really needed to dig her heels in.

"Hey, Ev!" cried Luz as she, Toye, and Guarnere stepped into the only pub in Aldbourne. "You made it!"

"So it would seem," she replied with a tight smile, accepting the arm he threw across her shoulder.

"Hey, Lip!" he called. "Look who's here!"

"Evening, Sergeant Buchanan," Lipton said, raising his glass in salute.

Eve nodded back and broke Luz's hold to head for the bar. Since she was here, she might as well try to blend in.

Various tables waylaid her. She stopped, saying hello and exchanging greetings with several of the men despite having just spent the majority of her day with them. Guarnere and Toye paused when they hit a table occupied by fellow sergeants “Bull” Randleman – a quiet man with corn silk hair who seemed to tower over the other men with his sheer presence, but seemed a gentle soul when not under fire – and Johnny Martin – a firecracker and a wiseass, but a hard worker and someone with a reputation for getting things done – both from First Platoon.

Eve scanned the crowd, noticing Webster occupying a table with Christenson. He gave her a rueful smile when he caught her eye and turned back to his conversation.

She didn't really know Webster, but she knew of him. There were few who didn’t. Web was a private, too good looking for his own good with bright blue eyes and short cropped dark hair. When he wasn’t questioning the officers, he was wrapped in his own head, too smart by half and idealistic to boot. He was wealthy enough to have avoided the whole war, was a student or a graduate of Harvard – she wasn't sure which – he’d joined up to be a grunt three weeks before he could have become an officer.

He’d chosen instead to be on the front lines. He didn't believe in wealth buying privilege. Eve knew that the only reason she was here at all was her father's wealth and influence buying her the privilege to fight. He respected her for her choice, just as she respected him for his, but they generally tended to float in different circles. And yet, whenever she needed to find new reading material, he was usually her go-to guy. The man absorbed books faster than anyone she'd ever met.

Skinny and Hoobler were chatting in a corner. There was a table full of young replacements she ignored and a gaggle of men by the bar. Joe Toye kicked out a chair and nudged her with it; she looked down at the chair, amused, and sat. He smiled at her, smug. She tried to glare at him, but his tactics amused her too much for it to be effective.

"Hey, Johnny," said Bill as he swung over a pilfered chair of his own. "How's it goin'?"

"Not too bad until your ugly mug walked in, Gonorrhea," said Martin, shuffling over to accommodate the extra people.

"Shut yer face Martin," said Bill, slapping a friendly hand on Johnny's back.

"You wanna beer?" Luz asked, getting up to go refill his glass.

"Sure," he said, "Joe, Ev? You want anything? First round's on me."

Eve shrugged, indifferent, but Joe nodded. So, Martin took Bill's money and wandered away towards the bar. She snorted when she realized the reason Johnny had been so keen to fetch the round. He spent fifteen minutes or so flirting with the barmaid, who was obviously more than content to flirt back if the soldier was going to keep tipping the way he was.

"Hey, Ev!" called Malarkey from his spot by Skip at the bar. She noticed the pretty nurse standing next to him, watching their byplay and hesitated. She didn't want to step on another girl's game. He waved her over anyway – seemingly oblivious to the girl – so she got up and went, cocking an eyebrow in question. "Come settle this bet?"

"Whatever it is, you lose Malark," she said, reaching them.

Skip's eyes lit up in glee, "Really?"

"No," she deadpanned. "What's going on?"

Malarkey explained exuberantly the crazy scheme he'd talked Skip into attempting. "So, I say that he can't get this dollar out from under these coins using only one finger, without moving the coins."

Eve took in the setup. Malarkey had placed a dollar bill atop an empty bottle, tugged to the side enough that the entire portrait was visible. Keeping the bill in place was a neat stack of coins perched on the rim of the bottle.

"If he wins he keeps the note; if I win, he buys the next beer!" announced Malark.

She nodded, keeping her incredulity from her face as Skip attempted it.

He smacked at the bill with his forefinger, but it didn't budge from under the weight of the coins. He tried again and again, becoming so violent with his movements he nearly broke the bottle. The top two coins toppled from the pile.

"My turn!" Malarkey finally said after Skip gave up in disgust. The man licked his finger and then smacked the bill, pulling it cleanly from under the coins and leaving them balanced on the bottle's rim.

She turned to Malarkey who was eyeing her with eager anticipation. "You're both idiots, but Malark wins it," she said, fighting to keep her face serious.

"Aha!" crowed the man, holding the bill up in triumph.

Skip whined and protested at Malarkey, who insisted he'd won fair and square.

Eve left the two bickering boys with a laugh. By the time she made it back to the table, the fellas had abandoned it for darts. She caught the tail end of Martin and Guarnere's seemingly hostile game, sprinkled liberally with heckling from both the peanut gallery and the other participants. Pints of varying fullness made their way on and off her table as the boys took turns trying to hit the bull's eye.

Eve refrained from joining in; she was terrible at darts. She left them to it and migrated to a two-person table out of the way. She was better off sticking with poker, lest she put out some poor bastard's eye, so she sat back to enjoy the show.

"Ev!" called Talbert from the corner after she'd gotten lost watching darts for a good long while. Shaking off her lethargy, she looked for the man. She definitely needed to get up and move a bit before she fell asleep in her chair and they mocked her endlessly for it.

It didn't take too long before she spied him tucked away with Hoobler and Skinny Sisk. With a glance down at her somehow empty pint, she left it behind with a shrug and moved to join them.

Tab greeted her with a jovial slap on the back. "Didn't think you'd come out tonight," he said.

"I wouldn't have, but Guarnere and Toye dragged me along."

"Oh?" said Sisk. "Did you have some other plans?"

"Margaret, my host mother," she clarified when they both gave her confused looks at the name, "leant me a book to read. It's pretty good. 'S called _The Hobbit_."

"Huh, never heard of it," said Skinny with a shrug.

Eve wasn't surprised. "It's a children's book, came out a few years ago."

"So," drawled Talbert, changing the subject with the subtlety of an ox. "How are your replacements doing?"

She winced. "I didn't get off too badly. There's one – Jackson? –" she guessed, remembering his name with the influx of others she had to memorize. "He's a little surly and extremely eager, but he seems to be fitting in well."

"You haven't been having any other problems?" pressed Hoobler, feigning interest in his glass.

Eve's eyes narrowed, sensing a plot. "No," she drawled. "Why?"

"We just wanted to make sure you weren't having any trouble with them," said Sisk.

Talbert winced, sensing that was a wrong thing to confess. Sure enough, Eve's face clouded.

"Because I can't handle myself?" she asked, eyes sharp.

"No," said Hoobler, earnestly stepping in. "We all know you can, Miss Evelyn," he said. Just like that, all of Eve's ruffled feathers smoothed. "We just wanted to make sure none of these new guys got any ideas."

Eve smiled, realizing that they were actually trying to help. "I appreciate it boys," she said. "But knock it off. These new boys need to learn to respect me just like you lot did, and despite your intentions, threatening them to get them to do it really only reaffirms that I can't do it by myself."

"We were only trying to help," said Skinny, chastised.

"I know, and again, I appreciate it, but I'm a big girl. I can handle a few replacements." She gave them all a large smile and let the conversation steer towards other things, like First Platoon's replacement Lieutenant.

"Peacock?" she clarified.

"Yeah," said Talbert. "He's an odd one. I was in his plane for that jump to France we never made. He asked me to tap his leg when the light turned green. As though the light weren't right next to him!"

Eve laughed. The folly of officers was unlimited.

"Maybe he's blind or something?" suggested Hoobler.

"Wouldn't be a looey if he was," said Sisk.

Eve shrugged. "Might be colorblind.”

"What the hell's colorblind got to do with anything?" demanded Sisk.

"I think that's where you can't tell between red and green," said Tab. "Huh, that would make sense, I guess."

"Hey, Ev!" cried Guarnere from over by the darts.

"Excuse me," she said to the guys with a smile and slid away to see what Bill wanted.

"Com'ere. I wanna teach you how to throw darts," said Bill as she approached.

"C'mon Bill," she whined but gamely set down her pint. "You know I can't throw darts for shit."

"Exactly why you need to learn. It's an embarrassment."

She gave him a wry look. "See if you ever walk away from poker with a dime again," she threatened as she plucked the dart from his fingers. "All right," she said. "Show me how you hold this thing."

Guarnere showed her by holding his own dart, and then Luz – who was watching with immense amusement – came over to fold her fingers into the actual position rather than the close approximation she'd been trying. She glared at him but kept her fingers where he'd put them and tried to mirror Guarnere's stance.

"It's all in the wrist," he said. She watched with envy as he flung the dart into the circle. She tried to replicate the motion, but the dart went wide, bouncing tail end off the wall. She scowled at the uproar of laugher that met this failure.

"Goddamn it," she cursed as Guarnere handed over the next dart.

"Throw it harder this time," he instructed.

She settled into position and flung the dart away with all of her frustration. At least this time it embedded itself in the wall.

"Better," judged Luz, as though he'd had anything at all to do with it.

"Awright," said Guarnere, impressed because it took Bull two hands to pry the dart loose from the wood underneath the plaster. "Next up: aiming."

Eve rolled her eyes but allowed her form to be critiqued by the peanut gallery, who were all taking great joy in pointing out her flaws and offering advice. After throwing ten darts, not one coming anywhere near the bull's eye, they finally let her give up and sit down to nurse her wounded pride.

She half wished she’d brought her book along. She wasn’t going to be playing anymore darts, and most of the men who swung by her table did so just to set down their beer so an overly attentive barmaid wouldn’t swipe it. Eve had been sitting at the table long enough that it was littered with half empty beers as guys drifted by to chat, then left them as they went off to various pursuits that required their hands free. For the moment, that meant hustling one of Martin's replacements, Private Heffron, at darts.

She honestly hadn't expected Babe, as he liked to be called, to have the gumption to actually participate. It was already plain as day that the replacements admired the Toccoa guys with a kind of awe usually reserved for heroes.

 _I don't feel like a hero_ , she thought. Perhaps she could see it in men like Winters, who was calm and confident even up against the steepest odds, or Bill, who was as likely to be off doing some death defying stunt as he was following orders. Bill was a certain kind of crazy she liked. She could list similar attributes to every man in the company, so perhaps that made them heroes, but she couldn't genuinely say the same about herself. She was too shit scared most of the time, just trying to do what she was told without dying, to feel like a hero. She wondered if any of these guys felt the same way she did, and figured they all, to some degree, probably did.

But she'd faced combat once and was more than capable of doing it again. She couldn't even imagine being left behind at this point. She was going to march with Easy until her legs fell off. She hoped these replacements were up to doing the same because surely the Army would ask it of them.

She watched quietly as Luz and Compton, who'd showed up an hour ago, conned Toye into being Heffron's partner. To be completely fair, the kid wasn't half bad. The dart seemed to go where he wanted it to more often than not, much to Eve's envy.

But his skill was offset by Luz and Compton losing in the most spectacular fashion she'd ever seen. She smiled as she saw the barely restrained glee on Buck's face as he nearly missed the entire target. Gradually, other Toccoa men drifted over to watch. Guarnere and Johnny Martin led the official cheering/heckling section. Bull had elected himself as dart collector, chewing on his cigar to keep the smile from his face and ruining the gag.

"Nice shot, sir," said Bull, completely deadpan as he handed over the darts to the outwardly sheepish Lieutenant.

Eve had taken an ill-timed sip and nearly choked when she saw Guarnere egg Babe into making a wager with his two grinning opponents. _So much for neighborhood solidarity_ , she thought. Or perhaps the bonds from Toccoa just overshadowed that for Bill. They certainly did for Eve.

Martin and Bull tried to keep their faces straight by looking at the ground. Guarnere met Eve's eyes and winked at her when she finally got her coughing under control. _What a hustler._

She kept an eye on Guarnere as he moved to hassle the replacement table, Bull's somewhat mocking warning not to set them off looming behind him. She'd seen the kids around, but was honestly too busy to get to know any of the replacements beyond those in her squad – all of whom had made themselves scarce tonight. These were the new guys in Bull's squad, Heffron's friends, if she wasn't completely mistaken.

"Yeah, you've got some wild-eyed killers there, Bull," Martin mocked. Guarnere laughed and slapped Martin's arm.

He planted himself in Heffron's vacant chair at the replacement's table. "Hey there fellas. Whaddya hear, whaddya say."

Like good friends, they tried to reserve the seat for their buddy, but Guarnere wasn't the kind of guy to go anywhere just because some guy asked him to.

"Is that right? I don't care if it's fuckin' Eisenhower's," said Bill, which shut them up. "Who are you?" asked Guarnere, a sneer on his face. It was obvious that he was completely unimpressed by these boys, who’d had the gall to try and tell him what to do, and he wanted them to know it. Eve looked down, wary. She'd heard that tone before. She sighed and took a long sip of her beer. Laughing would only encourage the man.

"Uh, Private Miller, James Miller. I'm in Sergeant Randleman's squad," said the sad-eyed kid on the left.

"Us too, I'm Les Hashey." Hashey was the one who defended "Babe's" chair.

"Tony –"

"Garcia" Guarnere finished, "I know you are. Old Gonorrhea don't miss nothin'," he said as he stole Garcia's beer and nearly finished it off. Garcia watched him with a glare.

Eve tuned him out. She wasn't interested if Bill was just going to pester them. Instead , she shifted her attention back to the darts game just in time to watch Heffron – who'd paused to watch Guarnere introduce himself to his buddies – turn back to his game with Compton and Luz. He shot the last dart for a victory and shook the gracious Lieutenant's hand.

"You know, it's a good thing we weren't gambling, right?" Buck said to Luz.

Luz smiled and shook his head. "Oh boy, we would have gotten killed, though," said Luz, staring straight at Heffron; who took the bait, hook-line-sinker.

"What, you wanna bet?" Heffron asked, still holding his hand out.

 _Sucker_ , Eve thought. Even an infant had a better poker face than Luz did sometimes. Every single one of his tells was on display and the kid sailed right by them all. Eve might've pitied him if it weren't so fun to watch.

"What? No. Gambling? That's a gamble," Luz said, acting shifty and scared to sweeten the deal.

"You wanna bet?" asked Toye, jumping in. "A pack of smokes?" he said. He’d probably saved Heffron's salary there with the way Luz and Compton were playing. But Eve honestly thought a little less of the man for not noticing how easily he was getting swindled. For Christ's sake, they'd pulled this bait and switch gag often enough for even Eve to know their angle. Heat of the moment was the only explanation.

"Oh, I'm not much of a gambling man," said Buck. Eve had taken another ill-timed sip and was trying not to die choking on her laughter.

"A packet of smokes," said Heffron with a shrug, probably thinking – mistakenly – that the smokes were somehow less valuable than money. They weren’t. Smokes could be worth their weight in gold to the right person, at the right time.

"First one to hit the bull's-eye?" asked Compton with a shrug.

"One shot?" Heffron said. Toye and Luz agreed quickly.

"Hmm, make it two packs?" asked Compton meekly, looking at Luz as though conferring with his deepest confidant. As though Luz wasn’t salivating to back him up and take those two saps for everything they could get away with.

Toye and Heffron jumped on board far too quickly for their own good.

"Lieutenant? Uh are you gonna shoot lefty all night?" Luz asked as Buck lined up a dart.

Toye realized what was happening an instant too late. "Hey, come on!" he protested as Babe was still struggling to catch on.

"Just curious, 'cause he's right-handed,” said Luz as he drew on his cigarette.

Toye already knew he'd been goosed and started cursing.

"George! What would I do without George Luz?" asked Buck jovially, as he shifted the dart to his right hand and fired before Toye and Babe could pull out of the bet. Babe nearly got something out of his mouth before the dart sailed.

"Boop!" said George.

"OH!" both he and Buck cried in jubilation as Toye cried out in disappointment. Somehow, they managed to all hit the same pitch as they watched the dart sail into the bull's eye. Heffron closed his eyes in pain, and Joe had to physically turn away.

Eve nearly spilled what was left of her beer she was laughing so hard.

"Two packs gentlemen!" Buck said, holding out his hand and smiling at George.

George pointed at Toye with the cigarette still in his hand, saying, "I know you got 'em, pay up.”

Buck gave the audience a bow, even tilting a gracious nod towards the eagle-eyed Eve, letting her know that he was well aware she'd kept her mouth shut. He gave her a smirk and a salute before going to gloat with his partner in crime.

That avenue of entertainment exhausted, Eve's attention drifted back over towards Bill and the replacement's table.

"So, Heffron tell you about Doris yet?" Guarnere was saying as she tuned back into the conversation.

Hashey shook his head. "No."

"Huh?" Guarnere made sure all of their attention was on him, grandstanding like nothing she'd ever seen. "Well, now I'm gonna educate you," he said pointing a finger in a gesture that would make any lecturer proud.

"We're getting ready to get on a plane for that first Frog town we never jumped into," – frog being slang for French. – "All of a sudden Heffron stops dead in his tracks." Behind Bill, Randleman smiled at Heffron, his cigar out of his mouth for once. "Bing-and-a-bang-and-a-boom," Bill emphasized with a smack of his hands, "Everybody banging into each other, Heffron's just staring at the nose of the plane _because_ on it was painted this beautiful pinup, and written underneath: Darling Doris," he said, illustrating the pinup and the scrawl again with his hands.

Eve had no idea he was such a good storyteller. _Talk about hidden talent_.

"Doris, just happens to be the name of the skirt, who just that day had sent Babe one of them letters, yeh know the-the-the," he paused to think, drew a blank, and turned to Webster, whose table happened to be behind him listening and watching the replacements contemplatively.

"A Dear John letter," Webster supplied, and Guarnere went back to his story with relish. Dear John letters were from wives and girlfriends who broke it off with their soldier for a man who wasn’t off fighting the war.

"That's it, a Dear Babe letter," Guarnere invited them to laugh with him though only Martin did from behind him. "Only Patton overruns our drop zone. Mission canceled."

 _One of too many to count_ , thought Eve with a little bitterness. She took a taste of the bitter beer for symmetry and grimaced. She always fooled herself between sips that it tasted better than she remembered it did. _God, I miss champagne_.

"In other words, Babe don't have to risk getting inside old Doris again." Bill laughed loudly at his own joke. The other guys cracked the barest hints of smiles, which seemed good enough for Bill. "Hey Bull," he called to the still hovering Sergeant as he lit a smoke. "Your squad listens up real good!"

"Yeah, they're being polite, like whenever Bull opens his mouth," said Martin, unable to keep out of it any longer.

"Johnny, what're yeh saying? That Bull's boys are just 'umorin him?" asked Bill, serious.

Martin wasn't at all, turning back and trying not to smile at Bull as he teased him, "Yeah like whenever he offers 'em some folksy wisdom from back on the farm."

Eve smiled. It was well known that Martin, Bull and Bill were the very best of friends. You'd never guess it by looking at him, but Bull loved to tease the louder Martin and Guarnere, and was more than capable of giving as good as he got.

Eve took another sip of her beer, genuinely surprised that she was almost at the bottom of her glass for the third time. It had been several hours, though, and she didn’t feel the slightest bit tipsy.

"They probably think he's a fucking hayseed," said Bill, still talking to Martin, but he'd turned back around in his chair. "They're right!" he said with a laugh.

The replacements finally laughed, but it was the wrong move to make. The audience, including Eve who'd been enjoying the story, became stony, serious. There was no _way_ these replacements got to disrespect Bull.

"What're you laughin' at?" Martin asked the replacements, his face completely sober. He looked his meanest when he was staring someone dead in the eyes. But Eve knew him well enough to find the smile tucked into the corner of Martin's serious façade, tempering the sharp barb. He was still teasing them, as much as Bill was, but the sentiment was genuine.

Liebgott, having just entered the bar, sidled up to her table and swiped her nearly empty beer, distracting her. She watched him sling the whole thing back in one gulp and tried not to be amused by his blatant disregard of manners.

 _That was actually kind of impressive_ , she thought, letting him keep the glass with a halfhearted glare. While she was glad she didn't have to drink it any more, now she didn't have anything to do with her hands. She returned to watching the drama Guarnere and Martin were creating.

Liebgott turned around to catch whatever was holding her attention. He glanced again at Eve, who shrugged and continued watching. It was only because she'd known him for years that she caught the smile Martin couldn't quite hide in the face of the replacement's terror. Lieb wandered over to join the fray.

"You're new, boys. You listen to Sergeant Randleman. Got that? That's the smartest man in the company," Bill said, pointing over his shoulder.

Eve would bet good money –perhaps a coveted chocolate bar – that Bill had a twinkle in his eye. It was something that happened when he was imparting some vast, important wisdom on to his audience. When that audience happened to be Eve, she knew him well enough to roll her eyes and smile at him. He meant what he said, she knew, but his delivery was just different with her. Perhaps it was because they'd gotten off to a fairly rocky start. Whatever their relationship had been at the beginning, he was one of her dearest friends now.

He caught Eve's eyes across the room and gave her a wink before standing to join her. He passed by Martin, Lieb, Luz, and Compton, heckling Babe and Toye over their loss. When he reached her table, he sat down with a world-weary sigh that was so exaggerated Eve couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Nice story, Bill," she said. "Any of it true?"

"Every bit," he said shifting to get comfortable. "You want another beer?" he asked, noticing her surprisingly empty glass. "I bet we can get Johnny to go get you one."

"Why not?" she said. She didn't really want one, but there was nothing better to do.

Bill flagged down Johnny, who just so happened to be returning to the bar himself, and gave him Eve's order and enough cash to pay for it. Eve, who'd been reaching for her wallet, gave him a cocked eyebrow that he ignored with a smile and settled in to wait. Bill collected his abandoned mug after briefly pointing at it. Eve gave him a nod, letting him know he'd remembered the correct glass, and he took a long pull.

Johnny came back far quicker than he had that first time, and judging by the scowl on his face, with a bit more money. Eve had noticed the bartender Johnny'd been sweet on being extra friendly to Malark. She accepted the beer from him, giving him a smile of thanks. He gave her one in reply, unable to help himself and then went to join in the heckling of Toye, who really ought to have known better. Toye should have smelled a rat a mile away when Luz and Compton started talking of betting like it was a foreign notion. As though bookie didn't run in their blood until their veins were green from all the dough they raked in.

Babe wandered over to their table, looking miserable after being so thoroughly swindled. He gave a sigh and leaned back against the wall. He banged his head against the wood paneling for good measure, apparently trying to hammer in his irritation or perhaps trying to force a pain-associated memory with being hustled. It seemed self-punishing either way. From the flat look in his eyes, neither she nor Guarnere were hiding their amusement very well.

She gave him a beaming smile that he scowled at her for. She still thought he should have known better.

"Rub it in, why don't cha," he grumbled.

Guarnere laughed. Eve's smile grew sickly sweet. "Thanks, ever so," she said. "I think I will."

He shook his head in dismay and she lost it. Bill, having held strong until she broke, cracked up as well. She tried taking a sip of bitter ale to smooth out her expression, but it only screwed it up in disgust. Which made Babe laugh, the bastard.

"Jerk," she said still laughing. "What kinda fella laughs at a girl's pain?"

Babe backtracked so quickly, his head shaking, that Eve started giggling. It took her a minute to catch herself. She looked down at the beer. Maybe it was time to stop. She nudged the glass away from her with a finger.

She bit her tongue to keep it from sticking out when she caught the laughter in Bill's eyes. He chuckled in spite of her efforts to appear wrathful. She needed work on her glare if Bill knew her so well as to see through it. Eve finally dragged her attention back to Babe, who was watching the byplay with envy. She wondered what on earth he had to envy, but ignored it as Bill clapped a not-so-friendly hand on the Private's shoulder.

"Don't sweat it, Heff," Bill said. "If we didn't like you, we'd have had you play poker with Ev here."

Eve honestly tried not to swell with pride, but she was tipsier than she probably should be. She settled back into her chair with satisfaction.

"You serious, Sarge?" asked Babe, sizing her up. He probably thought he was hot-shit at poker too. Most of the guys who Eve played with did at first. Then they lost spectacularly and eventually learned not to play with her anymore. She gave him a razor sharp smile, and his face turned wary.

"We'll play sometime, Heffron," she said.

"Then you'll see," said Bill, nearly cackling at the thought.

"What happened to neighborhood solidarity, Bill?" she asked, remembering how he'd already helped hustle Heffron earlier.

"What?" he said. “Any kid from South Philly knows that the neighborhood's all well and good, but at the end of the day, every man for hisself."

She nodded, noticing that Babe was too. _Interesting_.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to watch Cobb approach the replacements' table, zeroing in on the guys sitting there. She'd never really gotten to like Cobb. He was a good man to have in a fight. Perhaps it had something to do with how long he'd been in the army. After ten years, he complained and griped constantly, knowing what he could get away with. But still, a drunk Cobb was a mean one. She'd learned that early on back at Toccoa, and as a consequence, she generally found other places to be when Cobb showed up to drink.

"Hey, Mack," said Cobb as he slapped Miller on the shoulder.

Eve barely noticed as Bill left her and Babe alone to go chat with Compton and Luz, she was so focused on the fight brewing.

Consequently, she missed the grin Bill shot at Heffron as he left. She wouldn’t have known the meaning of it if she had; it was one part encouraging, one part threat.

"Where'd you get that?" Cobb sneered as he played with the blue, Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation pin on Miller’s chest. Easy Company had earned the citation for their actions on D-Day, and every member of the company, new and old had a right to wear one, regardless of whether or not they’d participated in the action.

Miller said as much, describing the pin as though Cobb weren't wearing one of his own. "For what the regiment did in Normandy."

"That's right," said Cobb, still sneering as though he'd been on the front line after those guns with them. "For what the _regiment_ did. You weren't there."

"Hey, hey," Hoobler said, stepping in, the conversation obviously having snagged his attention as well. "Ease up, Cobb. It's a unit citation."

Miller, though, felt so ashamed that he wore a pin that he hadn't personally earned he took it off and laid it on the table, leaving it and his beer behind. He met Randleman's eyes as he slipped by.

"Shit, Cobb," said Bull, picking up the pin, and looking the man square in the eye. "You didn't fight in Normandy neither."

Eve stood up to intercept Miller. Cobb caught her disapproving glance and met it for a moment before looking down, abashed.

 _That’s new_ , she thought. Cobb wasn't typically the type to back down, especially so close to drunk. She wondered if it was shame that he hadn't fought rather than shame at humiliating the replacement, but didn't dwell on it, choosing instead to intercept the distraught Miller.

The kid was just about to round the corner where Bill was gossiping with Martin, Toye, and Compton when Eve stepped in front of him. He met her eyes.

In his face and posture she read that he was ashamed that he hadn't been there at the beginning; that he hadn't gone to fight and die with them in Normandy where a lot of her friends were buried. None of that was necessarily his fault, but if he wanted her respect, and the respect of these men, he'd have to earn it.

“Don’t worry about Cobb,” she said. “He’s just sore he didn’t get to fight. He got hit in the plane on the way to the drop and had to circle back here for medical.”

“At least he was on the plane,” grumbled Miller.

Eve looked at him, wondering if he was ready for the truth that absolutely no one who’d made it to the fighting wanted to go back. “Let me buy you a drink," she offered, hoping it would smooth the way. He stared at her, indecisive, so she pushed a bit more. "I don't bite."

His gaze caught on something behind her and she saw him change his mind. He gave her a shaky smile. "That's all right, Sarge," he said. "I'm just gonna get some fresh air."

Eve gave him a nod and let him go. She couldn’t make him talk to her after all, despite how much he looked like he needed it.

He didn’t get far.

"Listen up!" called Smokey. The whole bar including the retreating Miller quieted to give him attention. Babe stood up from where she’d left him at the table, presumably to comfort his friend, as Gordon found himself a stool to stand on. "I got us an announcement to make!" the man hollered again.

Eve shifted in the crowd, moving to stand by Bill so she could see.

Gordon towed Lipton to stand in front of him. "This here's Carwood Lipton!" he called, making sure everyone could hear him.

"He's already married, Smokey!" called Malarkey from the bar. Eve laughed quietly, though not many others did.

"This here's Carwood Lipton," said Smokey again, undeterred by Malarkey's jokes. "The new Easy Company First Sergeant!" he crowed, both hands on the reluctantly smiling Lipton's shoulders.

A cheer went up, the whole crowd replacements and Toccoa men alike cheering for the well-liked man.

Eve clapped along with the room, elated for the man. Lipton had been doing a First Sergeant's work since before Normandy, perhaps even back as far as Toccoa. It was good to see the right man promoted for the job, even though it had been unofficially his for far too long. The Company had done without a First Sergeant since Evans was declared MIA and then KIA in Normandy. The job couldn't have gone to a more deserving fellow.

"And as befitting his position," said Smokey, losing the first half of the sentence in the still cheering crowd. "He has to make an announcement." He slid off the chair and moved away, letting Lipton have the floor.

Lipton shifted and gave a throat clearing cough, his face unusually somber. "Well," he said, pursing his lips. "Hate to break the mood here, boys, but uh, we're moving out again."

And that was all he said as he ducked out of the pub.

The mood was well and truly broken. Guys shifted uncomfortably, looking at each other and savoring a last sip of beer. Eve tried to affix faces in her mind, as they were in this moment of relaxation so that she could hold onto it rather than whatever pain she might find on them in the future.

Soon enough, the gaiety was back, this time with a hollow feeling instead of true enjoyment. Everyone put on a happy face, determined to enjoy this last moment of peace before having to go back to barracks and fret about packing up for war. They'd already been on standby for eight scrapped drops; perhaps this one would be no different. But the dread in Eve's belly could not be ignored.

She slung back her beer with a grimace and set about heading for home. If she needed to pack, there was no way she could stay in the barracks tonight as had been her original plan to avoid waking her host family.

She gave Guarnere a nod when she met his eyes. He gave her an understanding smile before turning back to his companions. He'd known she was going to duck out early, and now was as good a time as any.

-

Bill caught Heffron's eye and gave him a sharp nod to follow her. If Heffron missed this chance to talk with her, it was his own damned fault. Bill could only do so much after all, and Ev was sure-as-shit slippery when she wanted to get out of dodge.

The woman was already out the door and halfway up the road when Heffron called out to her. Sergeant Buchanan stopped and waited for the Philadelphian to catch up.

"What can I do for you, Heffron?" she asked.

"I was wonderin’ if we could talk?" he said shifting his weight.

"Sure," she agreed, looking somewhat puzzled. "What's on your mind?"

He kicked a loose cobblestone down the road, tracking it as it skittered along. "You know the guys talk about you all the time?" he said, deciding to open with neutral territory.

"They do?" the woman said, sending the cobblestone skittering back to his side of the road as she approached it.

"Yep," he said. "Seems like every third word or so someone's talking about what you did in Normandy or how good a shot you are. Made me wonder what kind of person was behind it all; so I was wonderin’ if we could talk or somethin’."

"Hate to break it to you Heffron – ”

"Call me Babe," he interrupted her.

"Babe," Buchanan agreed with a wry smile. "Hate to break it to you, _Babe_ , we’re talking right now."

"I guess we are," he conceded.

They spent some time passing the rock back and forth between them, Buchanan or Babe occasionally wandering out of their way to fetch the errant stone.

"Did you have a topic in mind?" she finally asked him, deliberately steering them down a road that would take them the long way back to barracks, he noticed.

"Oh," said Babe deciding to cut to the chase. "Well, I guess I was wondering why you decided to join up at all. I mean you're a woman. Why not just avoid this whole war if you could?"

Buchanan took a moment to actually think about the question. It made Babe more inclined to think that she was actually going to give him the truth – not just some off the cuff answer to make him go away.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," said Babe, uncomfortable that he might've crossed some kind of line without knowing it. She had a right to privacy after all, but he desperately wanted some kind of explanation to the mystery of this woman who seemed so feminine and deadly by turns. Especially since none of the Toccoa guys could shut up about how great she was.

"No, that's all right," she said, but still didn’t say anything more.

After a too-long beat of silence, she said out of the blue, "Did you know that women fought in the Civil War?"

"No shit?" he said, honestly surprised. That certainly hadn't been in Granddad's stories about Great-Grandpa Heffron.

"They did," she said. "They hid themselves as men and joined the army. They fought and died just like anyone else. That was before you had to go to a doctor so he could tell you whether or not you were fit to fight. Back then, they didn't rightly care either way. A soldier was a soldier. Women have been fighting in wars for thousands of years, secretly as men.”

She took a breath and swallowed. Babe pretended he wasn’t hanging on her every word.

"When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted to hear about were stories about war. They seemed like the grandest of adventures, going off and winning glory. Of course, I was always a General when I played make-believe," she admitted.

Babe laughed.

"Well, did't you?" she demanded.

"I guess so," he said, and that seemed to satisfy her. She nodded, and kicked the rock again with a sigh.

"There were other parts of war that I liked hearing about too, you know, not just the battles," she said. "My daddy always talked about the men he fought with, with such reverence. I think he loved them more than he did Momma or any of us kids; different, you know?"

"Yeah," said Babe, thinking of his own granddad who forgot everyone else at the end of his life but the men he'd fought with.

She nodded, "I wanted to find some of that," she said. "I wanted to be remembered, wanted to be loved so deeply by other people the way he loved those guys."

"What about the fighting?" Babe asked. "Friendship's all well and good, but what about the nightmares they had?"

"I figured it was a fair trade to experience friendship like that," she said, surprising him. "Besides," she added, lightening the mood. "I was never going to marry someone anyway."

"Why not?" Babe demanded. "You're pretty enough."

She laughed at him. "Thanks, Heffron," she said. "But you don't know the kind of man I'd need to marry for my family to be happy. They're dull as rocks."

She’d somehow steered them around for another circuit of the town, waving as they came across other soldiers she obviously knew drifting back towards barracks. "And I'm no good at being a lady. I was always more at home with a gun in my hand."

Babe could see the gun far easier than he could picture her in heels and pearls. She walked more like a man than with the gentle sway women adopted.

"My daddy got me in, you know," she said. "I begged him for ages to let me join up. Told him I wanted to be the best. He decided he wanted the best to protect me," she gave a laugh. "I think he knew far better than I did what I was getting myself into, but he let me do it anyway."

"Do you regret it?" asked Babe, searching for their errant rock.

Buchanan stopped walking and turned to face him with a gravity on her face that made him pause. "Not for a single second do I regret any of it."

After a beat, he nodded and they continued. "Were you scared?" he asked, finally getting to the heart of what he wanted to ask. He was terrified of combat, if he were in a mood to be honest.

"We're all scared, Heffron," she said quietly. "You just have to learn to deal with it." He met her eyes, finding compassion in them. "You do your best to do what you're told, and let God handle the rest."

He nodded, feeling inexplicably better. "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it," she said.

Babe noticed that they'd somehow ended up close enough to the barracks that they should probably call it quits and head their separate ways.

"You need any help packing up?" she asked, making it obvious that she was about to leave.

"I think I got it squared."

"Don't forget your laundry at Mrs. Lambs," she reminded him. "You might never come back to get it if you do. We're probably not coming back to England after our next drop."

He nodded, a knot in his throat as he watched her wander away. _What on earth did Easy Company do to deserve a dame like that on the line with them?_

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates happen on Thursdays. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> Massive thank you's to everyone who's left feedback, or just bookmarked/kudos/subscribed to this story. I appreciate each and every one of you.


	18. Eindhoven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company has a good time interrupted by the calling back to War.
> 
> Inside each of us, there is the seed of both good and evil. It's a constant struggle as to which one will win. And one cannot exist without the other. - Eric Burdon
> 
> Now: Easy Company drops into their next mission, Operation Market Garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betas: FandomlyCroft, Atman, Laura001. Big thanks to you all.

-Chapter 18-

“As you can see,” began Winters, standing in front of a presentation board. A hand drawn map was behind him, labeled Holland and pin cushioned with about fifty different markers denoting everything from unit positions and their planned drop zones to the enemy’s line, augmented with topographical notations the for further clarification. “This is called Operation Market Garden. In terms of Airbourne divisions involved, this one’s even bigger than Normandy.”

“Which means it’s unlikely to get scrapped,” Guarnere hissed into Eve’s ear.

“Probably not,” she whispered back, and returned her attention to Winters, who was already speaking again.

She ignored the rock in the pit of her gut. They were going back.

She wanted to throw up.

“We’re dropping deep into occupied Holland.”

Eve shifted. Dropping behind enemy lines was what she’d signed up for, what she’d trained for, but after years of reading the folly and dangers of such missions, a familiar spike of fear shot through her spine.

“The Allied objective is to take this road here,” Winters continued, tracing the road on the map behind him, “between Eindhoven and Arnhem, so the two British Armored Divisions can move up it towards Arnhem. Our job is going to be to liberate Eindhoven. Stay there, wait for the tanks.”

He turned the floor over to Nixon. “The entire European advance has been put on hold to allocate resources for this operation. It’s Montgomery’s personal plan; we’ll be under British Command,” Nixon said quickly.

He anticipated the groan that went up amongst the men.

"Yippee." Someone near her muttered with as much bitterness and sarcasm as was humanly possible, summarizing Eve's feelings exactly. Guarnere turned and caught her eye, his own wary at the development.

While the British were some of the best strategists the Allies had, there was a general consensus that it was the Americans who did all the dirty work, supplying bodies and bandages for their grand schemes. The Brits were perfectly content to plan and re-plan an operation, but it was almost always completed on the backs of the Americans.

Easy Company had brushed against some of the British divisions in the invasion: the impression hadn’t been a good one. The Brits were slow, perpetually stopping for tea-time, and worried about property damage when they should’ve been worried about the lives being lost. They were too cautious by far – a casualty of being locked in continuous combat since 1939.The British soldiers themselves, the men on the ground, were solid veteran soldiers with a will to fight that was unbeatable, but their commanders lacked gumption – too worried about the political ramifications of failure by far to be anything other than cumbersome.

"The good news is," said Nix, cutting through the grumbling with the ease of long practice. "If this works, these tanks will be over the Rhine and into Germany. That could end the war and get us home by Christmas."

Eve certainly liked the sound of that. Done by Christmas was almost too good to be true. It was certainly one hell of an incentive.

"It'll be a daytime jump. Intelligence doesn't expect much opposition. They think the Krauts in Holland are mostly kids and old men." Nix paused, his eyes roving over the crowd and perhaps even meeting Eve’s eyes directly for a moment before moving on. "And we should take them by surprise. In any case, say goodbye to England; I don't think they're gonna call this one off. "

He gave them a nod and let Winters go into specific objectives.

Eve tried her best to pay attention to the briefing that Winters and Nixon were running for Easy Company. It was hard to focus through her suddenly overwhelming fear.

Her hands were shaking, so she gripped her knee. Old fear engulfed her. She was always terrified that she would make a bad call, do something stupid and get everyone around her killed, and now it felt like it was a certainty. Normandy had been a fluke. She was going to screw up; fail every last one of them and let them down.

She took a deep breath and pushed it all down into a box to worry about later. She needed to focus. If she didn’t know what was going on around her, she’d just get her squad into even more shit. _I can do this_ , she tried to persuade herself. _I didn’t mess up in Normandy. I can do this._

Eve trusted Nix when he said that the intelligence was solid. Hopefully, the British tanks would hold up their end of the bargain and provide the back-up they needed. She scanned the crowd for her squad, noticing the eager anticipation on the replacements' faces with an uneasy knot in her stomach. She hoped they looked this ready for combat when the planes started falling from the sky.

Eve gave Winters her full attention when he started outlining the objective. She needed to memorize all of it before they jumped.

There were going to be three Airborne divisions going in, the 101st and 82nd from the Americans, and the British 1st Airborne. Each division was charged with taking one of the three bridges. Easy and the 101st was to take the southernmost bridge.

It was of the utmost importance to keep the road connecting the bridges open. There was only one road in, one road out. If the Germans cut the road, the Allied troops would be trapped.

They had to hold the road.

-

Lipton scanned the crowd and stopped when his eyes found Evelyn Buchanan. What he saw worried him. This wasn’t really anything new – his worry for the lone female among them – but it had been so long since he’d felt the need for the emotion, the feeling was unfamiliar again.

She looked lost, and afraid.

She'd managed to find a spot in the very middle, all of the Toccoa men of Easy radiating from her with the replacements left to find seats on the outskirts. A couple of the guys kept shooting side glances at her, maybe checking that she was still there for their subconscious, but other than that, they all seemed to be paying close attention.

The First Sergeant didn't think the seating arrangement was an accident, nor did he think Eve was even aware of it. But that's how it was with Eve; she was somehow always quietly at the center.

As he watched, the woman took a deep breath and settled. Lipton was relieved to see the stubborn set to her shoulders once again.

She’d be fine.

-

The goodbye with Margaret and Charles was tearful.

“Promise me you’ll write,” insisted Margaret. “As often as you can.”

“I promise,” Eve said.

Margaret nodded through her tears and pulled Eve into a tight hug, squeezing the breath out of her before pulling back to lean on her husband for support.

“You look after yourself, you hear?” said Charles, wrapping his wife in his arms and feeling like he was losing a daughter.

Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and said, “I’ll do my best. Thank you both, so much for everything.”

“You were a pleasure to have in my home, dear,” said Charles. “You are welcome anytime.”

“I might take you up on that,” said Eve, laughing to hide her tears. She took a deep breath and gave them each one last hug. “I’d better go before I miss the truck.”

“Yes,” said Charles with a stiff upper lip, still holding onto Margaret, who was unable to speak through her tears. “God speed.”

Eve smiled, but it was tinged with the sorrow of goodbye as she grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder.

With one last look at the cottage that had become her home, she left, promising herself she would come back one day.

-

They arrived back at Upottery in the evening and spent the night in green canvas tents.

The morning of the jump, the sky was bright blue and clear, a nice change from the perpetually damp English countryside.

Eve would almost rather it be raining. The sun reflected off the once muddy ground, now a dust bowl as the slight wind picked it up and blew it around. The heat felt oven hot through her brand new ODs and she wished the Army didn’t have regulations against sunglasses as she helped strap her replacements into their gear. They’d been given a new set of uniforms (complete with a truly ridiculous flag emblazoned on each of their arms about the size of a piece of paper and about as subtle as a kick in the head) plus brand new equipment as a jumping gift.

On a more practical note, the clouds might’ve given them a bit more camouflage for the jump this afternoon. She wasn’t sure if it was a good omen, or a bad one. She could only hope that there would be more cloud cover in Holland or they might as well hang out a sign to let the Krauts know they were coming.

The atmosphere of getting ready for their second combat jump was incredibly different from that of their prep for D-Day.

The veterans hid their nerves behind brutal efficiency, reminding themselves that nothing they would face in Holland could possibly be worse than the shit they'd flown through to invade Fortress _Europa_.

Plus, their experience made getting ready a hell of a lot easier. D-Day had been a sharp learning curve and the veterans learned their lesson. Eve made sure to poll the other NCOs and her friends to figure out what the best possible combination of gear was and where to put it. They knew what was essential, what they could afford to lose, and what wasn’t worth carrying. All essentials needed to fit on your body or they were liable to fall off.

Eve made sure her replacements knew where to best put those vital essentials – such as guns and ammo and knives and ordinance – and how to make sure the load wouldn’t go off when the kid slammed into the ground.

She made sure they all knew what they needed to have on them and what they needed out ready to move with, the most important of which was having a rifle out and ready for immediate use upon hitting the earth.

She could still see the poor bastard who’d never even made it to the ground at that farm outside San Marie Elegies, dangling from a tree for the sport of the Germans on the ground.

It wasn’t going to happen to any of her men. Not this time.

Eve wandered through the ranks, making herself available to anyone who wanted to ask for help.

She promised herself she wouldn’t be surprised when no one asked, they hadn’t last time either, but she made sure the offer was there.

“Hey Ev!” cried Liebgott when she got within sight of him. She wandered over. “Help me with Jackson?”

He had his hands full with Baxter and Nelson both. They were trying to look tough, but their nerves were showing through anyway.

Maybe she’d been premature in thinking no one wanted her help.

“I don’t need any help,” snapped Jackson.

Or maybe not. “Okay,” said Eve.

She watched him fumble his belly strap twice with nerves before he threw his hands up in disgust.

She stoically strapped it up for him, smiling at his grumbled “thank you,” before sending him off to Liebgott to get cinched into his webbing properly.

She moved on to Nelson, going through the list of items she’d told him to tuck into pockets verbally with him to make sure he had everything.

“Rations?”

“Two days,” he said.

“Three would be better,” she said.

“No room, Sarge.”

“Fair enough, ammunition?”

He patted the pocket and she continued through the list, checking his strapping for his pack as she did so.

When they were all finished, she looked the three over, tightening loose straps with impersonal tugs and making sure everything was squared away.

“Good,” she said when the impromptu inspection was over. “Don’t forget your shtick number. The time we’ve got left is yours. Don’t waste it.”

She nodded at Liebgott and decided to try and find something to make herself useful while they waited to load up.

Walking through the mass of soldiers, she nodded to those who called her name and smiled at her friends.

She meandered through Second Platoon and into First. A young Hispanic man she recognized as Garcia from the evening in the pub seemed to be struggling.

Bull Randleman, his Sergeant, was on top of it. He briskly showed the kid how to load his gun and carry it in the jump so it didn’t but his jaw when he hit the ground.

Eve noticed Miller, the kid Cobb had belittled, struggling with his pack. She adjusted it from behind so it sat square on his shoulder and made sure there weren’t any dangling bits that might snag.

“Thanks,” he muttered, probably embarrassed that the girl had helped him out, but she gave him a kind smile regardless.

The impatient honk of a jeep’s horn rent the air. Eve winced at the sharp sound and looked to see what all the commotion was.

Popeye Wynn, the man who’d been hit in the ass in the assault on Brecourt Manor was standing tall in the back of the jeep as it cut a swath through the paratroopers loading up on extra gear from the supply truck just behind his vehicle. The jeep all but screeched to a stop and the blond, balding man hopped down.

Lipton greeted him immediately, clapping the often soft spoken man on the shoulder.

“Musta busted outta the hospital,” said a deep southern drawl from behind her. She glance up into Bull’s face for a moment before following his line of sight to the reunion.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, even as she noted the way Popeye was hobbling after Lipton.

“Rumor has it, you’re in the hospital too long, they transfer you to another unit. Standard Operating Procedure.”

“That’s idiotic,” she said.

“M’hm,” he hummed.

“Holy shit,” said Johnny Martin, from just behind her shoulder. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Who? Popeye?” Eve asked.

“Passenger seat,” said Bull, finding the source of Martin’s disquiet.

An uneasy silence settled over the crowd of Easy Company.

Captain Sobel was here.

“Goddamn it,” Eve cursed.

Martin turned to look at her, noticing that she was sheet white. “What’s the matter, Ev?”

She shook her head, ignoring him, and tried to find something to occupy herself with so the man wouldn’t notice her.

She’d had enough of Sobel for a lifetime.

“Buchanan,” said the man, foiling her plans.

“Sir,” she said, saluting sharply just as he’d drilled into her so often.

He looked her over and she wondered what he found. After a long moment, where she would deny holding her breath, he finally said, “As you were, Sergeant,” giving her rank special emphasis and left her alone.

She took a deep breath and walked away before she fell down as the adrenaline took her. She didn’t know why, but it felt like she’d just faced her arch enemy, not the nameless, faceless kind that the Nazi’s were, but the man who’d tormented her for nearly two years.

She wondered why he’d singled her out.

It took her longer than it should have for an explanation to strike her. Once upon a time, Sobel had taken the credit for shaping her into a soldier.

Granted, it was true if she chose to look at it from a certain angle, but overall, Eve was of the opinion that he'd made her transition more difficult rather than easier.

Taking that into consideration, it almost made sense that he would take pride in her rank.

Randleman went over to greet Popeye and welcome him back.

“What’s he doing here?” he asked Lipton, pointing his cigar at the dark cloud in their midst.

“Who, Sobel?” Lipton turned to watch their old Captain direct the men unloading the medical supply truck behind him. “You’re looking at the new Regimental S4.”

“Supply officer?”

“Yeah, you got it,” said Lipton, looking smug.

“He picked me up in Aldbourne, trying to find you guys,” said Popeye.

"Who's that?" Garcia asked Eve.

“Captain Herbert S. Sobel,” she said. “A mean son-of-a-bitch,” she said, mouth running away with her before her brain could catch up. She looked at the shocked men, feeling guilty. _I shouldn’t have said that._

The guy she was helping gaped at her like she'd just spouted Greek or something. She tugged on one of his loose pack straps.

“He was Easy Company’s first CO, back at Toccoa,” she amended, remembering. Their hatred of Sobel had bound Easy closer than any of the other Companies in the 506. He damn sure made them into the best of the best. And they all hated him for it.

“Don’t let him catch you staring,” she advised. “He might sight you for an infraction and make you run up Currahee. Three miles up, three miles down.”

Not wanting to linger any longer in case Sobel decided to come back and torment her for old-time’s sake, Eve decided to wander back towards her squad and see if they would go over the map with her again.

-

"Hey, Miller," said Garcia, awed. "I think Sergeant Buchanan just made a joke."

"She can do that?" Miller said, staring after her. "Huh."

Miller sort of regretted not taking the woman up on her offer of a drink that night at the pub when Cobb wouldn’t let up about the replacements not fighting on D-Day. The man had no idea how much it ached to know that Miller had joined up just a few months short of being a part of the biggest invasion in history.

He hadn’t expected to be put into the 506, let alone Easy Company, famous for its infamous female combatant.

And she wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

Buchanan hadn't made a point to interact with any of the replacements other than her the guys in her squad, and even those men were button-lipped about her.

It was plainly obvious that the other veterans admired Buchanan a whole hell of a lot, and even after several months working in the same Company, Miller only vaguely understood why. Sure, it must have been tough for a broad to make it as a paratrooper. Lord knows Miller himself wanted to wash out a couple of times, but the reverence the men who’d fought in Normandy had for her couldn't be explained by her being a female alone.

Damned if he knew what it was, though.

Garcia slung his rifle over his shoulder, wondering how he was supposed to keep it there like he would if he was going on a march when they’d be falling from a plane.

“Come’ere, come’ere.” Sergeant Randleman came upon the man and briskly grabbed the rifle from his shoulder. “Sling it up and down, when you hit the ground your knee will hit the butt and the business end will bust your jaw, awright?” he ordered. While Garcia was processing that Randleman had already moved on to the next set of instructions. “Lose your reserve, you won’t need it. We’re jumpin’ low. And take your belly band and wrap it around you. Your fine.” He clapped Garcia on the shoulder and strode away before the man could say anything.

Garcia watched the sergeant walk away with awe.

Miller figured all the sergeants must walk on water, if Randleman and Buchanan were the examples.

“I’ll help with your reserve,” Miller offered.

“Yeah,” said Garcia.

They got to work.

-

The drop into Holland went better than Eve could have possibly hoped. It was like a practice jump except the munitions in their weapons were live ones. The sky had stayed bright blue, littered with the clouds too high to be useful.

There was no ordinance trying to shoot them from the sky. And everyone landed in their drop zone.

It was a Goddamn miracle.

Eve landed with a thud, rolling back to her feet easily after years of practice, and slamming on the release button for her chute. She didn’t waste time trying to gather it back up, quickly shedding the bright yellow life preserver too. If she didn't need it later, it was one less thing she had to carry.

Eve loitered in the drop zone just long enough to make sure everyone from her squad landed okay. She spent the time dodging loose and falling equipment so it didn't brain her. As soon as her replacements were on the ground and stripped of their chutes, she scrambled out of the drop zone and headed for the assembly area.

The replacements were so eager to go, it was almost comical. She kept with them, just to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid. She trusted her veterans, Liebgott, Lesniewski, More, and Alley – all Toccoa men – to make it to the assembly area on their own without her mollycoddling them.

The assembly area was a ditch on the side of the road leading into Eindhoven. Eve found herself and her squad saddled up next to Doc Roe by happy coincidence. She knew she probably wouldn't see a lot of him now that they were back in the thick of it, so she resolved to enjoy his company while she had the chance.

She looked up when Hoobler and Cobb came running by with a couple of bottles of cider each, moving quickly down the line to their squad.

 _Trust Cobb and Hoobs to go looting when we’re supposed to be assembling,_ Eve thought, sharing a depreciating shake of her head with Gene. It made him smirk, so she counted it as a win.

She settled in, ignoring Jackson's grumbling about going to loot for his own cider, knowing that he wasn't stupid enough to break ranks to actually go do it – Toccoa men had leeway that replacements didn’t – and continued to wait for the signal.

After an hour waiting in the long grass for orders, Buck Compton finally came by.

"Some kind of hold up ahead," he said, which was all the explanation she really needed. “We’re going in through the field instead.”

Eve nodded and gave the signal for her squad to move up and over the dyke.

She felt a bit bad, plodding through the neatly plowed fields. They'd have to be churned again if they hadn't already been planted, and planted again if they had been.

 _Such is the price of war_ , she supposed and kept her squad in line on the left flank of the maneuver.

It felt too easy.

There was no resistance anywhere from the Germans.

She gave the "hold" sign when she saw the two replacements on point sprint ahead for cover. She relaxed with some puzzlement. The movement that had spooked them all was simply a woman, hanging an orange sheet out the window of her home, not the machine gun she'd fully expected. 

 _Isn't orange the color of the Dutch Royalty?_ she thought, puzzled. _What the devil is going on?_

Someone up the column gave the all clear.

Eve proceeded onwards with trepidation, just in case she was mistaken and it was actually a warning color of some kind.

She was not expecting, as they walked into Eindhoven, to walk into a citywide party. There was singing, and dancing, and cheering, and food everywhere. Everyone was waving an orange banner of some kind. The civilians swarmed the soldiers, who broke ranks by sheer necessity and began to mingle.

Her squad scattered to the four winds, swept away by grateful women hugging and canoodling anyone in uniform they could get their hands on. They were so exuberant, a few even seized Eve and brought her into fierce kisses.

With much spluttering and awkward excuses, Eve ducked and dodged the women groping her with some difficulty and tried to get her bearings before she too was lost in the crowd.

She sought high ground.

Eve found a lamppost and climbed to the top of its brass base, trying desperately to route a way through the mob or track down her squad. Under the onslaught of people, she'd been tugged in so many different directions she'd gotten completely turned around. Who knew where her squad was or what they were getting up to?

She scanned the crowd, picking out helmets and trying to see who was underneath them. She found Lipton pulling a dazed Perconte from the oversized bosom of a Dutch matron. She spied Compton in the crowd, looking very happy dancing to the joyful songs the people were singing, a girl under each arm.

No sign of Liebgott, Jackson, or the rest of her squad.

“Goddamn it,” she hissed, looking harder. They had to be somewhere.

Someone patted her on the leg. She looked down to find Nixon looking back up at her with a grin, lipstick staining his cheek already from where he'd obviously been mobbed too.

"Sir," she said, hoping she didn’t sound half as relieved as she felt.

"Can you see Captain Winters?" asked Nix.

Eve looked again, scanning faces below helmets once more. It took her a few minutes before she finally noticed a man standing alone using binoculars. He pulled them down for a second as a woman grabbed him to hug him so she didn't choke him with them. Red hair flashed as the woman knocked his helmet askew.

That was him alright.

"This way, sir," she said, sliding down from her perch.

Eve immediately abandoned the notion of a direct path and settled for moving quickly and hoping for the best. It seemed to work as she slipped between people without pausing to even say "excuse me" lest they grab her and pull her into some form of merriment. Nixon was behaving similarly behind her as she led him to where she'd seen Winters disappear behind his binoculars. She hoped that if she were surly enough, the women would leave her alone.

Cobb ran by Winters as she reached him, chasing after a woman who was holding his helmet hostage for kisses. Apparently surly wasn’t going to work if not even Cobb could pull it off.

Eve was getting anxious. They were on a schedule. If there were no resistance in Eindhoven, then they needed to get to the rendezvous to meet up with the British Armored. The clock was ticking. She needed to find her squad.

An old man grabbed her around the shoulders and squeezed her. She let out a "gah!" at the sudden invasion of her personal space and was released with two fierce, tear-wet kisses to each cheek. _There are too many people_ , she decided, distinctly uncomfortable.

"Dick," said Nix, finally reaching hearing distance of his friend. He gave Eve's arm a clasp and spoke what was on her mind. "The clock's ticking."

"Yeah," said Winters, still scanning the upper stories of the buildings for signs of the enemy with his binoculars. He then foolishly tucked them into his jacket, signaling to all the women around him that he was done playing at "serious soldier man" and was open to accepting their affections again.

Someone tapped Nix's arm. He turned, looking at the beautiful women smiling and trying to touch him and then flinched backwards as two of them threw themselves at him, kissing him on the cheeks and mouth, adding more stain to his already red cheeks.

Both men flung useless platitudes at the women, hoping they'd back off.

Eve, now that the floodgates had been opened by Nixon and Winters, was experiencing similar horrors with the women grabbing her and trying to tug her into amorous kisses and pass her around. She flailed a hand out. Nixon seized it, pulling her back to relative safety between he and Winters.

She gave him a grateful look. "Thank you, sir," she said quietly to Nixon, and then scowled when she realized he was laughing at her.

She decided not to point out the lipstick still staining his cheeks. Let him find out on his own how many women had put a mark on him. She rubbed her own cheeks just in case and came back with smeared red wax. She scrubbed harder.

Welsh and Compton found them then, converging on the small group from different directions.

"What's up, Welshy?" asked Compton, seeing Winters and Nix tugging on their clothes. Or perhaps he was trying to see if they were ready to move yet. Eve wondered what they were doing as well, when Welsh began tugging on his own collar too. It wasn't the oddest thing she'd ever seen an officer do, but it was up there. And generally these three officers were relatively sensible.

“Snipers,” said Welsh, fiddling to make sure his jacket hid the insignia on his collar.

Eve tried to refrain from tugging on her own collar – snipers wouldn’t care about a Sergeant when they had Lieutenants and Captains to pick off – but gave in. Having her neck covered made her feel safer; whether or not being picked off by a sniper for her paltry rank was a reasonable fear was a completely separate issue.

"We've gotta get to these bridges," said Winters, but she couldn't hear any more as she was grabbed and kissed by three separate girls. She tried to dodge them but they just held her in place. She figured this was a rare case where she should just go along with it, so she froze and let them do it.

Of course, she finally caught sight of Liebgott at that very moment as he looked over, just in time to see her grabbed and smooched by yet another woman. _Christ, how many are there!_

Liebgott started laughing and pointing it out to the other guys, but was swept away before she could reach him.

Eve tried smiling – awkward though it may be – at the women still waiting for a turn to kiss a soldier, and tried to push them towards other, more appreciative, soldiers. It quickly became apparent that it wasn’t going to work. She gave up trying to reason with them and instead just pushed forward and braved the crowd.

She gave up on gathering her squad. They were just too scattered for her to find them. Instead, she started towing along any E Company guys she saw, trusting them to spread the word. They needed to get going.

A pocket of revelry broke away to reveal quite a different scene.

Women were being held down, crying and screaming as their clothes were torn from them, exposing their underthings, hair roughly shorn by cruel hands to show their shame. Swastikas crudely drawn on foreheads in black grease or ash. Men muscled women into the line and forced each one to be still and endure the humiliation, and a beating, as she screamed for mercy in Dutch.

Winters, Welsh and Compton, who'd apparently followed her, closed ranks around Eve subconsciously.

"What did they do?" asked Welsh, appalled but unwilling to interfere. The Dutch people were their allies after all; surely, they had a reason.

A man, who'd come up behind them, answered in English, "They slept with the Germans. They are lucky; the men who corroborated with them are being shot."

Eve’s stomach turned. It was a lot harder to say no when the man you slept with was the only way you could put food in your belly. That or he beat you so bloody you let him have you to get it to stop. Not all of these women had had a choice, she knew. Men with guns always had all the power.

In her opinion, it was very shortsighted for the Eindhoven people to turn on the women of their town so quickly, especially since some, if not most of them, were probably either victims themselves or innocent scapegoats for their anger.

Having often been falsely accused of having relations with everyone from her bunkmates to her godfather by the press, Eve was disinclined to believe such accusations without evidence. She wondered how much of the finger-pointing was made out of jealousy or a desire to deflect attention from the accuser’s own wrongdoings.

She kept these thoughts to herself even as she eyed the man with distaste. She knew it was a female's way of thinking, of surviving, and not necessarily something men liked to consider when doling out judgment and punishment. _I'm not here to save the world_ , she thought, _just do my duty. And if that involves getting out of this crazy town, the sooner the better._

"Mr. van Kooijk here is with the Dutch Resistance," Nixon introduced the man to Winters. Eve noticed the orange armband he was wearing.

Kooijk nearly knocked Eve down as he moved forward to shake Winters hand. Buck and Welsh held her up, but it didn't endear him to Winters any and rather solidified Eve's distaste for him.

"We've been waiting and hoping for this day," van Kooijk said eagerly clasping Winters hand, "for almost five years."

"He says he can help us secure the bridges," said Nixon. 

"Yes," said the man, gripping Winters' arm as they moved. Winters was obviously uncomfortable with the grip but allowed it. The man seemed like he needed something to hold onto, to grasp to prove that they were actually here, that five years of hoping for an ally had not been in vain. "Together we can push the remaining Germans out of Eindhoven. And that's just the beginning."

Eve hurried to keep up with them as the crowd separated and then closed ranks behind the men. She, Compton, and Welsh finally managed to find a way through the crowd in time to see van Kooijk introduce Winters to a stout little boy wearing the same orange arm band.

"They're kids," she heard Winters say as Kooijk let the boy go back to his friends.

"These are reliable reports," Kooijk protested. He'd mistakenly assumed that Winters was unsure about the children's loyalty or understanding, rather than the fact that kids who were spies would be as ill-treated by the enemy as adults, that those kids probably didn't have a true understanding what was being asked of them. "Anything we can do to help you, we will do. Anything."

A cheer went up as the sound of trucks and the click of tanks came thundering down the road. Impossibly, it became harder to hear with the machines nearly drowning out the crowd, which only encouraged them to shout louder.

"Right on time," said Kooijk with a nod of his head. Eve could see the Shermans rolling through town, decorated with civilians riding along every free, flat scrap of metal. Winters hopped up on a lamppost base, already occupied by Bull Randleman, to get a better look.

After a moment, the man hopped back down, thanked Kooijk for his work, and then gave orders. "Get scouts to the edge of town in case we're here for the night," said Winters, directing it at Compton. He and Welsh seemed less than pleased about spending the night in this town.

Bill and Toye, who'd made their way to the gathering after spying the man on the lamp earlier, stuck to Eve's side like burs in cotton for the rest of the day. She didn’t quite understand their reasoning, but at least they intercepted a great majority of the still blissful crowd, much to her relief.

She had good friends.

It was dark before the party finally wound down and Eve was reunited with her squad. She outright laughed at Liebgott’s bedhead and Alley’s numerous smooch marks. Jackson grumbled as he scrubbed his cheek, but she didn’t think all of the red on his face was due to lipstick stains.

The arrival of the tanks and even more exciting prospects for the women helped immensely.

Easy Company ended up bedding down in an orchard on the outskirts of town. Eve found herself wedged in between Liebgott and Guarnere – her platoon sergeant now – but she was too tired to give a damn about it, or wonder why.

Eve was just grateful there were no bullets flying and that she wasn't on guard duty.

She watched the stars until sleep pulled her under, wondering why all war couldn't be towns full of grateful people where the only danger was being pulled into unwanted kisses.

If she had known it would be her last night of peace for a long while, she might have tried to stay awake to enjoy the stars just a little longer.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone whose reading this. I very much appreciate all of your feedback and support. Updates every Thursday!


	19. Neunen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company leaves England for the last time and deploys for Operation Market Garden only to land in the middle of a huge party. 
> 
> "In valor there is hope." – Publius Cornelius Tacitus (Roman historian)
> 
> Now: Easy Company finds unexpected resistance in the town of Neunen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Big thanks to Atman, Laura001, and FandomlyCroft.

-Chapter 19-

Easy Company was riding in style atop the tanks of the Second Armored, only the scouting squad – permitted to walk on either side – was allowed off the tanks. It was Eve's squad's turn to scout. They kept easy pace with the lumbering tanks, as they snaked up the single lane road, eating K-rations as they moved.

They were an hour into the march when they came across a waif thin civilian clutching something. It was only as they got closer that Eve identified the figure as a woman; barefoot and wearing a shirt that hung off one shoulder and went to her knees, clutching a red-wrapped bundle to her bosom.

Seeing her on the side of the road, watching them roll by on their tanks, head shaved and holding a baby – perhaps a German soldier's child – nearly broke Eve's heart.

Nelson passed the woman a spare ration, which she took gratefully, but Eve spared a moment to dig through her pack for a chocolate bar to give the woman as well.

She knew it would do very little in the long run, this paltry offering, but sometimes something sweet was all you needed to have a better outlook on the future.

The woman looked into her face as she gave her the bar, and a moment of human understanding passed between them.

 _There but for the grace of God I go_ , Eve thought, giving the woman a compassionate touch on her shoulder, hopefully communicating that things would get better, before she was back on the move.

As she walked, Eve prayed the woman and child had a long, peaceful future. It was only fair that after so much suffering, good things should be on the horizon.

The men on the tank watched this interaction. Eve hoped they weren’t looking at the civilian woman, with her shoddily shorn head and her delicate face, and seeing Eve in her place. God knows, Eve was already doing it herself.

She kept walking forward resolutely, knowing suddenly without a doubt that they _were_ imagining her as one of those women, like those they’d seen in Eindhoven, shamed and unable to fight back. She’d certainly had nightmares of her own about just such a scenario last night.

Liebgott jostled her helmet affectionately, pulling her from her melancholy, so she gave him a smile and put the whole business out of her mind.

-

Eve’s squad was riding on the tanks in the late afternoon, when they passed a street sign proclaiming that they were on the doorstep of a town called Nuenen. From this distance it looked like a quaint, if small town.

Webster, from where he and the rest of Bull Randleman’s squad were riding on the front tank, uselessly supplied that Vincent Van Gogh had been born here. He had to shout to be heard over the rattling clank of the tracks, and Eve only barely heard him from her perch on the second tank.

The front tank slowed down to allow the second to move forward and create a double column.

Unfortunately, one of their shiny new Lieutenants, Brewer, didn't seem to notice, and was busy making a target of himself as he scoped out the town with his binoculars.

"Lieutenant!" bellowed Randleman, trying to alert him to the fact that they'd slowed down, and now the man was too far out, completely exposed.

Brewer turned at the call and fell as a sniper's bullet sliced through his neck.

"SIR!" screamed Miller from beside Randleman, pointing at the quick moving German armored half-track on their left.

"Move it! Get behind the tanks!" said Eve as her squad abandoned ship. The kickback of the blast could hurt somebody if they didn't get out of the way. The turret slowly swiveled to the right, took aim, and fired.

Eve slammed into the ditch with the rest of her squad as the blast deafened her.

When she was able to pop her head up, she saw Randleman running towards the downed Lieutenant Brewer. The world beneath her shook as the tank fired again, nailing the German vehicle.

"Medic up front! Medic up front!" Randleman called, squatting by the Lieutenant’s head.

Eve tried to get her squad moving out of the ditch, but the line in front of her was stuck.

She cursed and pulled herself up the bank to try and see what was going on.

Martin was doing the same at the head of his squad, but Randleman’s, at the front of the line had stalled without their sergeant’s leadership.

She had orders to stick with Martin and Randleman, but she was fed up and about to take her buys to find a different way into town. They were sitting ducks out here.

"Get up! Keep moving!" Randleman screamed from the road, but he couldn’t abandon the lieutenant.

Martin tried to get the line moving from his position behind his own squad, but to no avail.

Someone up the ditch was just too green to know better than to sit. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to start moving again until someone kicked him into gear personally.

People always did one of two things when getting shot at. They either froze, or they started moving. Moving was infinitely preferable.

Then the medic helping Brewer got hit in the leg and went down.

She hoped it wasn't Roe, but that was all she had time for as another bullet bit into the dirt only just missing her – so close she could feel the seared air as the bullet passed her cheek.

"Fucking move it up there!" cried Eve as she crawled to the top of the dyke.

Deciding enough was enough, she started picking off Germans exiting the burning half-track, putting the flaming men out of their misery.

Another medic came forward to relieve Randleman, who was still trying to aid the two downed men, and sent the sergeant away.

Randleman wasted no time. He jumped into the ditch and kicked his squad into gear. "Up and move! Move! Keep moving!" he bellowed. "They shoot at stationary targets! Move!" He hauled the frozen replacement up and shoved him forward.

Training must’ve kicked in because the man started running forward.

Finally, Easy Company began assaulting the town.

Eve was up and running from the front of her squad, moving as fast as she could to reach the cover of the buildings before some Kraut got lucky and managed to hit her.

She turned her back at the last moment and plastered herself to the side of the first building she came to, inching her way to the corner to try and gauge where the enemy was located on the other side, he would hit her if she poked her head out for longer than half a second.

Nothing.

 _Where the hell is the enemy_? she thought.

Her squad had assembled next to her as per their training. Using hand signals, she split her men, sending half to go around the left with Liebgott, and the others to follow her around the right side of the building, to reconnect at the next building on her signal.

"Go, go!" she shouted as she pushed the men to get to the cover of the next building.

An uneasy feeling started to settle in her stomach as they continued to meet absolutely no resistance as they got further into the town. Apart from the still burning German vehicle, the town seemed abandoned.

Eve set Nelson and Alley to clearing out houses as they passed them and keeping an eye on the road behind them, just to ensure they didn't get hit by a surprise attack from their rear.

Cautiously, they moved forward, ducking from cover to cover and systematically checking each dwelling for possible ambushes, keeping tightly together for safety in numbers.

There was still no sign of the enemy. Eve’s stomach was in knots. _This is too easy_.

She could see Martin’s squad scouting the neighboring building and was grateful not to have to deal with the barking dog that she could hear going nuts inside that building.

He met her eyes. She got her squad ready to provide covering fire if he should need it and gave him the signal that her team was ready.

He moved his squad to the shed between the line of buildings and the grandiose greenway of the church grounds.

There was a wooden fence, nothing more than stakes tied together with wire, separating the two properties.

“Ramirez!” said Martin, selecting a Toccoa man. “Go!”

Eve watched Ramirez take a flying leap at the fence, trying to clear it like a hurdle.

He missed. Ramirez’s body slammed into the obstacle, taking it down with him. He turned the blunder into a full summersault and was back on his feet within seconds, sprinting forward, impediment eliminated.

Eve was quietly impressed, but shoved the thought aside as she and Martin led their squads after the man in tandem, running through the church field as a unit.

After making it safely across the field, Eve found cover for her squad behind the painted wooden fence of an abandoned café. She was at the far edge of the line, her squad fanning towards the middle of the fence behind her as she took the corner unimpeded by further fencing. It was an ideal spot. She could make a quick movement forward if she had to, but she still had some cover. She used the opportunity to peek around the corner and take stock of the situation.

She could see Randleman squatting down behind some pillars across the street, his squad tucked behind the building.

Something odd caught her eye. She braced herself and looked again, just to be sure.

A tank barrel; there was no mistaking it.

Sure enough, after a moment of hard study, she could make out the rest of the Tiger tank, concealed as a hay bale at the end of the street.

With quick hand movements, she pointed the tank out to both Randleman – who’d already noticed it – and Martin, wherever he was behind her.

Randleman gave the signals to indicate that the Shermans rolling through town wouldn’t be able to see the Tiger at all.

Eve turned to look at Martin and found him right next to her.

She knew they were thinking the same thing from the look on his face. _Who’s going to tell the Limeys?_

Eve tried to volunteer with a raised eyebrow, but Martin shook his head.

She nodded and let him go.

“Heffron!” he barked. “On me!”

Eve tracked Martin and Heffron as they made ran to the tank. The driver paused just long enough to let the sergeant hop on and climb to the turret and speak with the tank sergeant.

She watched Martin give the tank the Tiger’s position.

When Martin dismounted, he didn’t look happy.

To Eve’s shock, the tanks kept rolling forward, completely disregarding the warning.

When Martin rejoined her, she hissed, “What the hell are they doing? Why didn’t they hit the building covering the tank?”

“No unnecessary destruction of property,” answered Martin with a snarl.

Eve frowned, and watched the tank roll forward towards certain doom. “I'd call a Tiger using property as cover ‘necessary’,” she said.

He snorted, agreeing, but there wasn’t anything they could do. They'd given the warning; it was entirely up to the Brits to heed it or not.

Eve understood that orders were orders, but she still felt a helpless dread fill her as the tanks rolled into danger.

It took less than five minutes.

As soon as the Sherman came into sight, the Tiger fired; a direct hit on the second tank in line. It fired again. The first tank exploded, showering Eve and her squad with tank shrapnel. The molten steel still smoking as it bounced off her ODs and helmet.

Hell broke loose.

The pillars around Randleman collapsed. The building his squad was behind shattered into dust as another shell imploded the ancient stone.

Randleman broke cover and ran for his life, machine guns roaring to life, their bullets kicking up dirt at his feet.

There was only a split second. Eve made a decision. “I’m going for him!” she shouted, whapping the man next to her – Liebgott – to get his attention. By the time she said: “Cover me!” she had already broken cover and was running towards Randleman before her common sense could kick in.

The only rough plan she had was to get to the pinned man and possibly pull him to some kind of cover. Barring that, she could at least act as a secondary target to pull some of the enemy fire off him.

It worked.

Bullets from a MG-42 licked at her heels as she yanked on Randleman’s shirt, urging him to run with her, leaving his helmet where it had fallen behind them.

They ran, ducking behind one of the still advancing Shermans. The cacophonous ping of the .42 caliber rounds bouncing off its thickly armored hide deafened Eve as they used it for cover.

She followed Randleman as he hopped into the drainage ditch on the side of the road, earth supplementing their cover, gunfire started kicking up dirt from every direction as shooters broke cover and began firing at the Americans, their ambush sprung.

The two soldiers had to belly crawl to stay behind the embankment and the protection it offered.

They were moving forward, which was all Eve cared about. She trusted Randleman to have enough common sense to keep moving until they found cover. They could figure out a plan once they were out of the line of fire.

The tank above the embankment exploded in a burst of fire, chunks of its armor ripping through the air.

Eve knew none of this. An intense pain in the back of her head registered, and then nothing as the world went black.

-

Bull Randleman felt something heavy fall onto his legs. He rolled over long enough to see that Buchanan had collapsed, a huge dent the size of a baseball in her helmet.

She wasn’t moving.

He could see the shell of the dead Sherman tank, now on fire, still rolling towards them and made a quick decision. He tried to stand and haul her into the carry he'd used on the downed man in Carentan, but he didn’t even made it to his knees before the MG had him pegged and started firing into the embankment next to his head. He hit the dirt again before the gunners could adjust their aim and kill him.

After the barest second spared in deliberation, Bull grabbed Eve’s outstretched arm and yanked it over his shoulder, looping the appendage around his neck and pulling her to drape across his back. He abandoned her rifle, and threaded his own over his head. There was no time to waste, the ominous clicking clatter of the tank still rolling onwards, threatening to crush them both to jelly beneath its tread.

He belly crawled forward as fast as he could while dragging her dead weight. He just hoped she wasn't really dead weight.

The ditch seemed never ending. The tank just kept coming. There was a loud crack and a flash of sparks. He pushed his face into the ground on instinct and lost them precious seconds. He glanced furtively over his shoulder and hoped the power line pole that just snapped in two would be enough to pull the tank to a stop.

It wasn't. The tank ran clean over the thick trunk, snapping the lines further and sending down a second wave of sparks.

Bull kept crawling for their lives. He could hear someone – maybe Martin? – calling his name but he couldn’t do anything about that now, couldn’t waste any time acknowledging his friend, or giving the MG another target. He had to keep moving.

His shoulder ached something fierce, but he didn't stop, just pulled himself forward as fast as he could.

The tank finally stopped, pitching forward into the ditch only five feet behind them. Flames hopped from the tank and lit the dry grass into a furnace of fire that licked at his boots.

He breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God it stopped_. But the reprieve was short lived as the Germans continued to fire on the ditch. They somehow guessed that he was still alive and they weren’t letting up.

He had to think of something.

-

Easy Company was retreating. Nunen was lost to the Krauts.

It irked Bill Guarnere that they’d waltzed right into an ambush. The Limeys had been less than useless in their tanks, unwilling to do any damage to the buildings at the expense of the soldiers on the ground and their fellow tanks.

He was busy trying to count everyone who ran streaming by him in organized chaos.

Two Americans were knocking down a door on his right. _Who the hell is wasting time looting when we’re supposed to be retreating?_

“What the hell are you doing?” he barked, getting close enough to recognize Malarkey and Muck from Second’s mortar squad.

"Help us!" cried Malarkey.

Bill didn't ask questions.

He lifted the door and helped Muck and Malarkey haul it back to where Lieutenant Buck Compton was lying face down in a ditch. Doc Roe was already there, pouring sulfa powder onto the man’s ass and trying to bandage it, but the bullet had gone through both cheeks, and there was no way to reach all four holes with just one bandage.

With liberal cursing, Bill helped Malarkey and Roe shimmy Buck on the door.

“All set, Lieutenant?” he asked as the big man grabbed on to the top of the door.

“Yeah,” said Buck, sounding like he was choking down the pain.

That was all the reassurance they had time for.

Bill grabbed onto one of wooden braces, used to keep all the planks on the door, and helped Malarkey and Muck tow the lieutenant behind the lines.

Roe bounded away as soon as they were moving, off to see to the other wounded.

Bill spared a second to pray for the Doc and then focused on the task at hand.

It was slow going. The door must’ve weighted fifty pounds alone, and Buck wasn’t a lightweight either.

They trudged out of town to where the trucks were waiting. Plenty of the other guys jumped in to help spread out the weight, and together they hoisted the lieutenant into the back of the truck, door and all. They didn’t bother fussing with the man to get him on a proper stretcher – not that there was one to spare anyways.

Certain their heavy load had made them one of the stragglers, Bill started taking stock of his Platoon, noting who was where.

“Anybody see that new kid from Bull’s squad? Miller?” Bill asked the gathering of men loading into transports.

Jackson from Buchanan’s squad shook his head and climbed aboard with Liebgott, who was looking around like his head was on a swivel.

“Took one in the head,” said a green looking replacement, Hashey if Bill remembered correctly. Bill clapped the kid on the shoulder – it was hard losing a friend – and made queries about the rest of the missing members as he watched Roe – back from medic-ing some other poor bastard – get Buck situated in the back of the jeep.

Lipton was next to him, helping some GI up into the same truck they’d just slid Compton’s makeshift stretcher into.

"One bullet, four holes," Bill said with good humor when he caught the First Sergeant looking at Buck with concern.

"Yep," said Lip. "It's almost a miracle." He gave a pat to Buck's ankle, scanning the truck and taking the same kind of stock Bill was as the truck started up.

The look on his face said he’d come up with the same thing Bill had.

They were two NCOs short.

Liebgott was looking for Buchanan.

She was missing.

So was Bull Randleman.

"Lip, I got one dead, three injured,” Bill reported formally.

“All right, Guarnere, thanks.”

“That’s not all, sir,” said Bill, knowing that Lipton was holding his breath. “I don't think we know where the Bull is. And Buchanan hasn't made it back."

Lipton cursed. Bill was surprised – the First Sergeant rarely used profanity but he figured now was as good a time as any.

That they’d gotten their ass handed to them was bad. That they were missing men – Toccoa men – was worse. Who knows what the Krauts would do to them – particularly Buchanan – if they found them?

Bill watched the First Sergeant as he made his way over to Lieutenant Winters. The man was hovering over Lieutenant Nixon, whose helmet had an impressive set of bullet holes that had scraped right through the metal around the good Lieutenant’s head.

 _I guess his head was just too thick for that bullet_ , thought Bill with macabre humor. Feeling like voicing the thought would bring ill luck –they needed Nixon’s brains unscrambled by bullets to get them out of this shit show – Bill kept it to himself.

He tried not to think about how the view of the town had turned into plumes of black smoke billowing from the scorched ground as he watched Lipton report to Winters and Nixon where they were all crouched behind some of the armor covering their retreat.

He could tell the minute Lipton delivered the news from the slump that bowed Winters’s shoulders. Bill had never seen the man look so defeated before.

Bill felt defeated for that matter. And spitting mad.

_Stupid Limeys should’ve listened when they’d had the chance, but no, what do we know, we’re just American grunts._

The truck started up, the bed they were sitting in rumbling to life.

Winters must have ordered the retreat.

They were leaving.

They were leaving their missing members behind.

“Son of a bitch,” Bill cursed and went to find out what the hell had happened.

He found Martin – he remembered that Johnny and Buchanan had gone into the town together – and the man was Bull’s friend. If he didn’t know something about Ev, he was likely to know what the hell had happened to Bull at least.

He threw out a hand and got hauled into the truck. He shot a look at the man sitting next to Martin – some replacement – and the kid obligingly slid over to make room.

He sat heavily next to his friend and looked over the still panting sergeant. “Did you see what happened to Bull?” he asked first. Bull and Martin were in the same platoon at least, and they were buddies. Martin would’ve been watching after Bull.

The man shook his head, unable to speak.

“What about Buchanan?” Bill asked, trying not to let his fear bleed through his voice.

Martin looked at his friend with despair. "I don't know,” he said at last. “I lost track of them. Last I saw, they were in a ditch, trying to outrun a burned out Sherman.”

“Did they make it?” Bill demanded.

Martin shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe? The tank stopped before it got to the ditch, but the MG fire was heavy.”

“Damn it,” cursed Guarnere, looking back at the town, praying that there’d be some sign of the two missing sergeants heading for the last of the truck convoy.

A tank shell hit the road. White smoke plumed into more black smog over the town.

Bill knew in his gut that they were alive. They had to be alive.

-

_Fire from the tank licked at Bull’s boots and ODs. He had to think of something, fast._

Just a few yards ahead, Bull saw a thick, brick drainpipe stuck out a few feet from where it crossed under the road like a miracle from God. He dove for it, pulling Buchanan in with him as fire licked her boots. He scrambled up the thick pipe – just tall enough for him to sit up in wide enough to serve as an adequate temporary shelter – and didn't stop until he'd reached a rusty iron grate on the other side.

They had a bit of protection from the fire in the form of the water still lingering in puddles at the bottom of the pipe – soaking into his ODs. It offered concealment from the Krauts – they’d likely see the fire and assume nothing had survived to try for the pipe.

Even so, that way out was cut off.

He shifted around, trying not to jostle Ev too much in case the head wound was worse than it looked – and it looked pretty bad. He gently propped her up against the brick wall of the tunnel. He needed to see what was beyond the grate and plan their next move. They couldn’t stay here forever.

A quick scan through the grate revealed no Kraut activity from what he could see. It seemed unlikely that the Krauts would decide to check the pipe for life for the time being.

 _We’re as safe as we can be right now_ , he decided, shrinking back into the shadow of the tunnel. _We’ll just wait ‘em out. When the Kraut activity dies down some, it’ll be safe to move._

The road above them rattled, shaking loose dirt and small insects from the pipe around them as tanks rolled by over them, followed by the march of boots and German voices.

Well out of sight from prying enemy eyes, Bull decided to check on Ev.

Gingerly, he took off Ev’s helmet, already having noticed the large dent in the metal supposedly protecting the back of her skull. It had blunted a lot of the force of the shrapnel but the metal had collapsed at one point, becoming a jagged tear. Apparently, whatever hit her had been large enough, and slow enough, that the metal had concaved rather than just allowing the thing to penetrate. Bull had seen enough helmets with bullet holes to know that they were actually very little protection.

He fingered the area on her head gently. She had quite the goose egg underneath her short hair. He already knew it was a bad sign that she'd fallen unconscious, but he needed to make sure she wasn't actually bleeding and that no metal had gotten through.

She flinched when he touched it and started to wake up. He breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Thank God she isn’t dead,_ he thought, and put his head in his hands to let out a shuddery sigh. He hadn’t even wanted to consider the possibility that he’d dragged her corpse with him all this way, hadn’t wanted think about having to tell the rest of Easy Company that she’d died on his watch. _Thank you God, that she’s alive_ , he prayed

-

Eve woke up to a very fuzzy picture. It took several long blinks before she could make out someone who must be Randleman – right size and coloring – with a dirty face and eyes staring at her in wonder. She couldn't really focus on him for long, just brief moments of clarity through a sea of swimming colors.

She blinked, desperate for the moment of clarity to return, but she was so dizzy and her head ached fiercely.

Bull breathed a shaky sigh.. Eve tried to smile and reassure him that she was fine, butit must’ve looked more like a grimace, but he gave her a large, relieved smile back.

He settled into the wall next to her between blinks. The next thing she knew, she was tucked into Randleman’s side, pinned under his arm. She let her aching, throbbing head rest on his shoulder with a wince.

Eve tried to find the words to say something – ask him where they were – but she’d barely made more than a sound before he clapped a hand over her mouth and shushed her, until she understood that they needed to be quiet right now.

Eve was so confused. She wanted to know where they were, but she trusted Randleman enough to obey.

Her eyes slid closed, and she prayed that when she next opened them that the world would have stopped spinning.

-

Bull sat in their dark tunnel waiting for a chance to get to better safety, his gun ready to fire as he watched and waited, Eve a constant, reassuring warmth at his side.

At least he wasn’t alone.

-

Easy Company made camp with the rest of the 506 in an empty field just off the road. Intelligence had warned them of the flooding Holland occasional experienced. They left the heavy trucks on the dyke, looming like sentinels, and used the embankment for some limited cover. Mist and fog limited visibility to only a few paces in front of him, so Bill ended up covering the same track of ground again and again, looking for the right group of guys.

Bill had already dug his own hole for the night, grateful that it wasn’t raining tonight, and that the ground was relatively dry instead of the mud he’d gotten used to in Normandy and England.

He was on a mission right now to find Ev and Bull’s squads.

When evening had given way to full darkness, and neither Ev nor Bull had wandered into camp yet, Bill was downright anxious. That certainty he’d had on the trucks had faded into dread. Every second thought in his head was either praying to or cursing God for keeping the fate of his friends a secret.

He wasn’t the only one either.

“Where the hell is she?” Liebgott grumbled at Alley as the two tried to dig a foxhole. “Something must’ve happened or she would’ve made it to camp by now.”

“Are we sure no one saw her go down?” Nelson asked from his own foxhole with Jackson just a few feet away.

“Nobody saw nothing,” said Jackson. “I asked everyone I could find. Maybe she’s still alive?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” said Lesniewski from the squad’s third foxhole. “More likely that no one’s found the body yet.”

“Shut up, Lesniewski,” growled Alley. “You’re not helping.”

“Sergeant Randleman’s missing too,” said Baxter. “Maybe they’re together? Should we go look for them?”

Bill didn’t even bother asking if Buchanan had shown up yet, let alone making his presence known now that he knew they didn’t have any news. If anyone knew anything, Liebgott would be among the first to sniff it out.

Thinking that perhaps Bull’s squad had some information, he left Buchanan’s and walked along the line.

 _There they are_ , he thought, finally spotting Cobb and Webster stretched out on the ground trying to sleep. He passed them, heading for Hoobler, who was scanning the horizon like he was itching to get up and do something, making no effort at all to make fortifications. Surprisingly enough, Garcia and Hashey were also still sitting up, looking morose.

He asked anyway, squatting down and knocking the man’s knee with his helmet to get his attention and offer a bit of support. “Hoobs, any news on the Bull yet?”

The man gave a forlorn shake of his head, the barest of motions, as though by making the gesture smaller it would make it less true.

Bill sighed and let his head drop. _Shit_. He said the thing he’d been thinking – repeating over and over like a mantra in his mind – all night as though saying it out loud would make it true. “If there ain’t no body, then there ain’t nobody fucking dead, understand me?”

After D-Day when everyone was wandering into camp at all hours, coming to find Easy, they’d all learned that lesson. No body often meant that the poor bastard was lost.

And saying it out loud had helped him believe it. Maybe if he said it five more times, he could get the knot of anxiety out of his stomach.

“I’m gonna go look for ‘em,” said Hoobler, rolling to his feet.

 _Yes_! Bill thought getting up too. “Not by yourself you’re not. I’ll go with you, just let me get some ammo.”

Bill put his helmet on.

“That’s okay,” someone behind him said.

Bill turned and found both of Bull’s replacements, Garcia and the other one, Hershey or something, standing.

“I’ll go,” Hershey volunteered.

“Me too,” said Garcia.

Bill looked at them and looked at Hoobler. “You’ll be going AWOL. You could be charged with mutiny if you get caught.”

Hoobler looked at the two kids behind him, and then looked back at Bill, his face set. They weren’t going to budge.

Bill thought quickly. He knew of another squad that was liable to go AWOL, and Martin and Toye would skin him if he didn’t let them know what was going on.

“Okay,” said Bill. “Give me a minute. You’re gonna need help. Holland’s a big fucking place.”

It wasn’t hard to convince Liebgott. The man was already up and slinging his gun over his shoulder, helmet on his head, before the whole question was even out of Guarnere’s mouth, with the Ev’s whole gung-ho squad right behind him. _Loyal bunch, her men_ , he noted.

Well, Liebgott told Toye, who told Martin, who told Malarkey, and soon the whole of Easy Company had geared up – quietly – to go look for their missing members.

“What’s going on, Guarnere?” Winters asked, catching him.

Bill winced, knowing the gig was up. Winters was too sharp to disregard what was going on as nothing. He knew something was going on and if Bill didn’t confess, Winters was going to guess and come close to the answer.

“We can’t leave a man behind, sir,” said Bill. “We’re gonna go look for ‘em.”

Winters looked at Bill and then he looked at all the men getting ready in the field, not just Easy Company anymore, but members from every company of the 506.

“Let me get my helmet,” said Winters, and geared up to join the hunt for their missing members.

The idea was so popular, after just twenty minutes, Bill was pretty sure the entirety of the 506 had volunteered to go searching. The 506 had never had a single soldier go missing. Killed in action was one thing, but the idea of just never knowing what happened to their friends wasn’t something they would take lying down.

It took him only moments to find the men who’d started all this. Hoobler and Liebgott looked amused as the 506 scrambled about like a kicked anthill, just waiting for his go ahead to move out.

Bill looked over at the small squad of four chomping at the bit. They weren’t going to wait for an organized, orderly search party to be assembled – they were going to leave now, the moment his back was turned whether he gave his blessing or not.

For the first time in a long time he wished he wasn’t the platoon sergeant. He’d have liked nothing more than to go on a suicide run to retrieve their lost people. But he was part of a much bigger picture now. Such a large effort would take time to organize – organization he’d have to help out with since it was all his idea. _Me and my big fuckin’ mouth_.

The dread in Guarnere’s gut couldn’t be ignored anymore. “Go get ‘em,” he ordered. He gave Hoobs a nod and went back to find his hole, trying to ignore the sharp longing to go with them anyway.

Hoobler, Liebgott, Garcia and Hashey moved out, returning the way they’d come towards Neunen, men on a mission.

“Alright, what the hell,” said Webster climbing to his feet to follow the three more gungho members of his squad and Liebgott.

Bill watched them go, wondering if Liebgott had even bothered to let the rest of Buchanan’s squad know that he was heading out without them. He’d catch all kinds of hell from them if Guarnere’s hunch was right.

He watched the band disappear into the fog before he headed back into the fray to help organize a reasonable search party.

-

Cobb didn’t know what to do.

His hands were absently picking apart some grass as he fretted with indecision.

He’d nearly died today. He’d seen his whole life flash before his eyes in that town, with barely more than a second to spare between when he’d heard the whine of a high caliber weapon and when it blasted the wall he was sitting next to, scant inches to spare between where his body would have been completely blown away, and where he actually sat, whole and terrified.

“I ain’t going back out there,” he said, mostly to himself.

He couldn’t. Ten years in the army, and he was reduced to this, sitting in the grass, toying with the green strips of plant life to keep his hands from trembling.

He felt useless. Worthless. Like a coward.

He owed it to Bull – one of the best Sergeants he’d ever had – to at least try to look for him.

But he couldn’t go back out there. Not to face certain death where it was likely they wouldn’t even have enough of him to find to identify him. That was the fate he’d faced down today. It was the one he’d face tomorrow – maybe – but he couldn’t pick himself up right now.

“Cobb?” said a voice. It was Webster, one of his good friends. “You coming?”

“I ain’t going back out there,” he said again, to Webster this time.

“Sure you are,” said Web, holding out his hand to haul Cobb to his feet. “Let’s go find the Sarge.”

Cobb looked at the hand being offered him, and made a decision.

He let Webster haul him to his feet, knowing with a sudden divine certainty that he could rely on Webster to help him keep it together. Webster wouldn’t let him be a coward. Not Webster – the man who’d volunteered to be an infantry man when he could’ve waited a few weeks and had his pick of the officer jobs.

A man like Webster wouldn’t befriend a coward.

So Cobb must not be a coward.

Somehow, Cobb found himself at the rear of their rag-tag little group as the assembled squads went to find their missing members, knowing down to his bones that it was the right thing to do.

He’d made the right decision.

-

They were walking cautiously, in single file along the very bottom of a ditch at the edge of the embanked road.

Webster was on point.

He wasn’t stupid. He had the grades from Harvard to prove it. So they were going slowly. He knew with every second they spent out here looking that they were out in enemy territory. It wasn’t uncommon for a paratrooper to be out in enemy territory, but this felt different, more dangerous somehow.

Webster wasn’t sure if it was the atmosphere – the dense fog – or the fact that Easy Company had taken a sound beating this afternoon, but Webster felt the need for extreme caution, for stealth, in a way they’d all but done away with after Normandy.

Anyone they came by would likely be hostile – even American or Allied soldiers would likely take them into custody for dereliction of duty or suspicion of going AWOL. A fire fight between them and the Germans, with so few of them, would mean the end of it, and all hope of finding Sergeants Buchanan and Randleman.

If they were to succeed in their mission, they absolutely could not be caught.

There was a faint rumbling coming their way from up ahead. Web flashed the “get down!” hand signal, and eight butts hit dirt.

Taking a deep breath – knowing it was his own neck on the line – he slowly climbed the embankment, peeking his helmet the scantest of inches above the road so he might see. With all the damned fog, it was nearly impossible to tell what was coming down.

Hoobler had come up behind him. “Webster,” he hissed, “us or them?”

“I don’t know,” said Webster.

Slowly the transport became clear. Webster could see faint silhouettes of men draped along the vehicle. The clicking of the motor didn’t sound familiar in the way the trucks or jeeps hummed and roared. Whatever it was had a track of some kind, and while the Army used tracks sometimes on troop carriers, Webster hadn’t seen one used since Normandy, certainly not since they’d been in Holland.

“Not us,” he said finally, certain, fear spiking. He and Hoobler slid backwards down the hill to the ditch with the other men, Hoobler flashing the “enemy!” signal so the rest of the guys knew what was going on. The small group of six plastered themselves to dirt.

Webster held his breath, closed his eyes, and prayed.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and a big hug to everyone who's left feedback (even you anon kudos people!) I love you all. Updates are every Thursday. See you all then!


	20. MIA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company tried to take the town of Neunen and ran into an ambush.
> 
>  "All the world is full of suffering. It is also full of overcoming." - Helen Keller
> 
> Now: Eve and Bull are stranded in Holland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: This week we have the fabulous Atman, Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and a guest Beta, AngelicSentinal who have all given their time to making this be all it could be. Thank you, guys, so very much!

-Chapter 20-

 _Now’s our chance_ , Bull thought scanning what he could see beyond their iron grate.

It was dark. The still blazing fires obscured everything else, leaving it to Bull’s imagination to fill in the gaps. He was reasonably certain there hadn’t been any Kraut patrols in a few hours, but time was different out here – waiting on the edge of a knife for the other shoe to drop and be discovered.

 _Focus_ , Bull reminded himself.

He jostled Ev awake. She'd fallen into a deep sleep with her head on his arm.

Her forehead scrunched as blue eyes blinked up at him. Her pupils were still unfocused and she groaned softly.

 _Damnit_ , he cursed. _She’s still disoriented_.

He put a finger to his lips and a hand over her mouth to shush her. Just because he couldn’t see the Krauts, didn’t mean that they weren’t still around.

Ev nodded.

He gave her hand signs indicating that they were going to make a break for the farmhouse, roughly fifty yards from their position. Ev gave him a slow blink and a nod.

“Come on, Ev. We gotta move.”

“’Kay, Bull,” she said, voice husky and slurring.

It took some maneuvering, but Bull somehow managed to tow Ev out of the storm drain without alerting the Krauts.

Then there was the long, almost forty yard gap, between them and freedom.

He had to drag Ev along like a rag doll. She managed one or two fumbling steps for every one of his strides, but her legs didn’t seem to be working right.

It seemed to take forever to cross the open field between them and safety.

Each pop of the fire, happily eating its way through fuel, became a gunshot. He became increasingly paranoid that Ev would suddenly go slack under his arm and slip away.

He hoisted her up higher at the thought and kept moving.

The trip was one of such heightened feeling that Bull was certain he’d remember exactly none of it when everything was said and done.

When he finally hauled Ev into the barn he’d been eyeing for the last few hours – weighing his options of moving versus staying for hours, under a literal time bomb as the fire around the storm drain crackled hungrily.

Ev groaned when he propped her up against the timeworn smooth, grey wood of the barn. “I’m going to be sick,” she grumbled.

Bull gripped her arm hard, and then gingerly pressed a hand to her mouth, reminding her to be quiet.

She didn’t need to apologize verbally, her slouch said enough.

 _Be surprised if I hear another peep out of her all night_ , thought Bull. He was overtaken by a sudden fierce loneliness that surprised him. Ev was his only hope out here, and if she was out of commission everything fell on him to get them out of here alive.

The sharp sound of an explosion made Bull flinch and whirl towards the barn door, letting Ev slide down the wall without his support.

Through the smallest crack in the door, just wide enough to look carefully natural after he’d hauled the both of them through it, he could see the Sherman erupting anew. The fire must’ve finally gotten into the tanks fuel.

He winced hard as another explosion sent sparks into the sky. His shoulder throbbed, reminding him that he still had a wound to tend to, one that had probably gotten worse, not better, after hauling Ev across an open field at speed.

Still, there were no signs that the krauts had seen him.

 _We made it_ , he thought with a small sigh, letting the door close with a squeak as he looked over at Buchanan.

She didn’t look good, but she was still alive.

Weak as a lamb, probably nauseous with one killer headache, he helped her stumble over to one of the stalls off the center aisle of the barn. Bull picked one towards the middle of the row, where the shadows from the moonlight were longest for more cover.

She didn’t make a sound when he lowered her into the musty, itchy hay pile.

He hoped that meant she was becoming more lucid.

She blended in rather well with the straw in her beige ODs except for one glaring issue. Bull grabbed her arm again and ripped off her American flag armband, easily snapping through the thin pieces of thread attaching it before tucking it into his pocket.

He didn’t have any rations strapped to his helmet like that replacement Hashey did, but he’d tucked a few emergency ration bars into the stock of his rifle for just this sort of occasion.

It didn’t taste like much, but it was food.

He was starving.

He tore the bar in half and gave it to Ev. She almost missed when she tried to grab it from his hand, her depth perception skewed.

Bull swallowed his worry with the dry, mealy bar and settled in for a long wait until dawn before he decided what to do next.

They should be safe enough for now at least.

-

Eve nibbled on the ration bar Bull had produced and tried to quench her fierce feeling of helplessness.

She needed to pull herself together or she was going to get them both killed.

She closed her eyes, hoping, probably in vain, that when she reopened them the world would focus and stop spinning around her at odd times.

The absence of her sight meant that Eve finally realized that there was something wet seeping into her uniform at the shoulder, where Bull’s warmth was leaning on her.

Curious – hoping she didn’t poke the man in the eye – she reached up and touched it. Without needing to see the crimson for herself, Eve knew she’d just found a well of blood.

 _Am I so disoriented I can’t even feel the pain?_ she thought astonished and horrified.

A moment later sense returned.

Bull was the one bleeding, not Eve.

That wasn’t a better scenario – but at least Eve hadn’t taken complete leave of her senses.

Carefully, double checking the distance, she tapped Bull’s hand with a few fingers. He turned from where he’d been obsessively watching the double barn door – like it was going to pop open any second. With a hand motion she knew was only partly coherent – they just didn’t have signs for every occasion – she asked and he confirmed that he was injured.

It was his shoulder.

Eve twirled a finger. Bull obediently turned around, clearly hiding his amusement as he shifted forward.

Amused was something Eve could deal with.

The wound wasn’t difficult to find. It looked like something had dug deeply into his shoulder, the wound a deep black color in the dark that indicated a lot of blood.

He would bleed to death if she didn’t get it bandaged. She didn’t think he’d be able to bandage it himself at this angle.

With careful hands, she tore the gaping fabric around the wound to get a better look at what she was dealing with. It looked like there was still something in there and it definitely wasn't a bullet.

Someone coughed.

With a quick jerk, Bull pulled away and handed her his gun in one movement.

Eve grabbed the rifle before she dropped it, but wondered how – pardon the pun – she was supposed to hit the broadside of a barn with her eyes so unreliable at the moment. They were getting better though – at least she wasn’t seeing double anymore.

Bull didn’t linger past making sure she had a good grip on the gun. He pulled out his bayonet knife and stalked to the back door of the barn.

He didn’t have much time if he wanted to be in place before whoever had just coughed made it through that door.

Eve knew their best chance was an ambush – a quiet one at that lest the sound of gunshots bring a whole mess of Krauts on their heads – so she fumbled Bull’s gun up, and faced the door. She didn’t think she could fire it, certainly not properly for a kill shot, but the Kraut coming through the door wouldn’t know that.

She watched Bull tuck himself behind a support beam. It gave him a little cover, but the ruse wouldn’t last for long if it was more than the one Kraut.

Bull held up two fingers.

 _Two Krauts then_ , thought Eve. _We might be able to handle two._

_Maybe._

She didn’t like their odds against an army when she could barely even stand and his shoulder was deeply gouged.

She tried to tell herself that they’d made due with less, but she knew she was lying to herself.

 _On second thought_ , Eve lowered the gun and pulled out her trench knife. _Better to be quiet. It’s not like I’ll be any less reliable. The last thing we need is an army of Krauts coming at us._

She warily tested her legs, but even the smallest, quietest movements told her that she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own two feet without landing on her ass just yet.

She'd have to use her bayonet as a throwing weapon if she wanted to help Bull from here.

 _Damnit_ , she thought. _I knew I should've paid more attention to that darts lesson_. And her vision was useless at the moment, wobbling between blurred double vision and a gray haze. _Shit_ , she thought as she realized the unavoidable truth: she was completely helpless.

Bull grabbed the man who came through, using surprise and momentum to pin the much heavier man to the wall, knife poised at his enemy’s throat and staring dead into his eyes, daring him to scream for help.

The civilian man was too old and portly to be a soldier, but he didn't make a sound other than his heavy breathing for a long moment. And then he spoke, softly in something Eve was learning was Dutch, drawing Bull's attention to his daughter, a pale-haired thing, as she came through the door. Her eyes widened in horror as she froze, taking in the scene.

After a long moment of indecision, stretched by the danger of the open door, the young woman stepped forward and closed the door behind her, probably hoping that her presence would stay Bull's hand and spare her father’s life.

The sound of tank tracks, steadily rolling by broke the tension. They had bigger things to worry about than some civilians.

Eve relaxed as Bull lowered the knife and grabbed the man, who grabbed his daughter, and pulled them back into the stall where Eve was still laying uselessly.

Bull pushed the civilians in beside Eve, who tried her best to smile at the white, frightened faces, while he placed himself as a barricade between the three and whatever was coming their way.

Eve prayed hard that whoever was manning those tanks would just pass them by, but handed Bull his rifle once more.

Prayers didn’t mean much in a warzone.

The tank kept rolling by.

Bull's head bowed in relief. He sat back next to Eve with a sigh and a grunt as he inadvertently bumped his shoulder into the stall wall.

Eve shifted forward to try and dig out the shrapnel again. The man next to her tapped her shoulder, pulling out a flask of something she realized after a sniff was alcohol and a scrap of cloth that might have been a kerchief.

She nodded her thanks and after gripping Bull’s arm to prepare him, poured a bit of the alcohol on the wound, trying to sterilize it. She offered Bull a drink to maybe numb the pain a bit, but he didn't want it.

Feeling sick once more despite the room staying firmly in place, Eve wiped at the blood with the kerchief, trying to get a better look in the limited light. There was something in their all right. She needed to dig it out.

With nothing better at hand, Eve poured some of the alcohol onto her fingers and began trying to dig the piece of metal out. Small as her hands were, the wound was too constrictive for her to get a proper grip on the sharp, slick piece of metal embedded an inch and a half into the meat of his shoulder.

She sat back, knowing what she needed to do but dreading it.

She found her bayonet, fleetingly wishing it was Gene here to help him instead. Gene would know what to do.

Bull probably wouldn't even be in this situation if it wasn't for her dead weight slowing him down. He'd saved her life.

Knowing she had very little choice, and receiving Bull’s nod that he was ready, she doused the bayonet with more of the alcohol. Done, she gave the flask back to the civilian, who took a long fortifying drink.

Eve laid a hand on Bull’s shoulder in warning and then used the bayonet to dig into his shoulder to pry the shrapnel out, wincing at every twitch and grimace on Bull's turned face. She was no medic, and this felt like barbarism.

She finally got the dagger-shaped piece lose and showed it to Bull as she pushed the kerchief into the wound to stem the bleeding.

"Is there any more in there?" she asked him in a whisper. The civilians froze behind and then started babbling to each other in quiet Dutch, probably just realizing she was a woman.

"You got it all, I think," he said, also _sotto voce_.

She nodded and fished in her pockets for her first aid kit. She'd gotten a new one after Normandy, thank God.

She sprinkled his shoulder with the white sulfa powder, using the kerchief as extra padding as she unraveled the bandage and pushed it into place. He grunted as she pulled it taunt and tied it off, having wrapped it completely around his shoulder so the knot was over the pad. The kerchief was somewhat precariously under the bandage, but it shouldn't be a problem at the moment; it just added an extra layer of absorption.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. The pressure must’ve quelled the relentless throbbing Eve remembered well from being injured in Normandy.

Eve sagged back into the wall, dizzy and nauseous again as what she'd just done to her friend rolled through her. She tried to compose herself.

Voices became audible just outside the barn.

Voices speaking German.

Bull shot forward to look out of one of the windows lined with broken glass. Eve watched his face, his posture, and knew it wasn’t good. She tried to get to her feet.

Bull came racing back, signing that they had incoming infantry.

Eve pulled herself into a crouch, the best she could do at the moment, bayonet still bloody but back in her hand. They'd be in plain sight of the barn door if they stayed put, and there was no telling what the Germans would do to them if they were caught.

They had to move.

Eve was up first, adrenaline washing down the dizziness for a moment, to her considerable relief. She knew she’d pay for it later but right now she used her vague steadiness to drag the daughter around to the back side of the stall by the arm. Bull had already moved to the rear to check the back door for movement.

"All right," he said once he'd verified that it was clear and waved the civilians over.

The man said, " _Verdankt_ ," and shook Bull's hand. The daughter and the man seemed reluctant to leave, despite Bull saying, "Go, go!” and coaxing her with a hand at her back, ready to push them out the door before they missed their chance. .

The large barn door swung open with a bang before the civilians had a chance to slip away.

Eve hid herself as Bull and the civilians dropped.

They left the civilians by the door, and split up, he went forward, and she went to the left, still wobbling, but at least able to stand now.

She could hear the Germans, three, no four, as they banged into the barn – obviously they’d been ordered to check the barn for resistance but they didn’t expect any. They sounded jovial, laughing and joking with each other as they gave the barn no more than a cursory glance. One shining a dangerous flashlight about at the height of his head.

Eve held her breath as they filed out, deeming the barn harmless, until they’d all gone but one.

She was within feet of the young German who decided the barn was as good a place as any to take a piss. Eve held her breath, trying not to gag as the sharp tang of urine triggered her nausea again. She didn't even notice that his friends had gone due to her such close proximity to him and her overwhelming fear of being discovered.

He finished quickly enough and was about to leave when misfortune struck, and he looked down.

Eve caught sight of the bloodied cloth the same time the German did and closed her eyes. _Of all the stupid things._

They were going to be killed because she couldn't tie a knot correctly. Normally, the cloth on its own wouldn't have been a cause for concern, but the bright red blood that shined in the moonlight like a warning, warranted a more thorough search of the barn than he'd just finished doing with his friends.

She shifted her grip on her bayonet.

The roar of a passing plane cut the air, deadening the sound of the German troops shouting and running about outside.

The Kraut dropped the cloth, apparently content to leave well enough alone, when a clash of fallen metal came from behind Eve somewhere, where the civilians were still crouched, she was sure.

She cursed them in her head. _Why are civilians so stupid?_

The German pulled up his rifle, shaking in fear as he called, " _Hallo_?"

He moved forward, " _Hallo, ist das jemand_?"

The planes were getting louder as he moved forward towards Eve's hiding spot. " _Hallo_?" he called. She silently willed him to stop, to not come any closer. " _Ist da jemand? Hallo_?" He was sounding more and more desperate, more frightened, with each unanswered call. " _Ist heir auf? Hallo?"_

He was getting too close to the civilians. Eve deliberately shifted some bags hard enough to rustle and then tried to sneak off in the opposite direction. It didn’t work. She was making too much noise and he knew exactly where to find her now.

The man whirled, taking a step towards Eve, but also presenting his back to Bull.

The planes were directly overhead.

Bull charged with his rifle, bayonet first, grazing the Kraut in the thigh. The Kraut tried to shoot him in retaliation, scared out of his mind and screaming now.

 _He's going to get us killed_ , Eve thought.

Unwilling to just let it happen without a fight, Eve jumped him. The Kraut had turned to face Bull after the man had come at him, and now his back was to her. Eve thrust her bayonet home into his back, dizziness preventing her from hitting his spine and ending it.

The Kraut screamed in pain, his arm flailing to try and grab the sharp thing sticking out of his back. His elbow caught her and knocked what little energy Eve had out of her. She collapsed back into the wall, legs giving up the ghost as her vertigo got the best of her.

Bull moved in, trying to finish him off before the racket of the planes died down and the Germans outside heard him screaming. The Kraut swung his rifle desperately at his incoming foe, managing to clip Bull in the arm.

Eve pushed off the wall to try and help, but only collapsed again as the German screamed in rage, a death cry.

The Kraut continued thrusting vainly in Bull's direction with his bayonet tipped rifle, but Eve could see his knees wobbling in pain, his body on the verge of collapse. She was impressed he'd lasted so long.

Bull dodged the wild thrust and caught an overhead strike with his M-1 braced for the weight above his head.

The Kraut collapsed to his knees, body finally giving out. Bull followed him as he fell to the ground, piercing him through the chest and then finishing by stabbing him in the face.

It was over.

Eve fought off the dark that meant she was about to faint, panting, her vision blurring, the roaring in her head not completely from the planes. She tilted over to the side and puked, K-ration and granola nearly worse the second time around.

-

Bull looked back at where the civilians were supposed to be hiding and found the daughter staring at him with horror. It took him a second to understand why. His face was streaked with the German's blood.

He decided to deal with her later. He yanked his rifle free and turned to find Ev, breathing heavy after puking. It took only a few moments to help her up. He avoided stepping in the mess and slung one of her arms over his shoulder. She struggled to get her legs back under her, cursing quietly when they wouldn't work properly anymore despite being fine in the heat of the moment.

She finally gave up and let him drag her along. He put her back in a stall, this one a little further from the entrance, and settled her sideways on the hay so she could lie down for a little while – at least until the nausea stopped and she wasn’t likely to puke on him anymore.

The civilian man helped Bull drag the body to the stall they'd been in first. They covered him with as much hay and straw as they could. There wasn't enough hay to completely cover his shoes, but he figured they matched the color of the dirt underfoot well enough to pass a quick glance. He grabbed a few fistfuls of straw to hide the puke and the bloody mess they’d made as well as an extra precaution, but he wasn’t overly worried about it being discovered tonight. The Germans had already cleared the barn after all. There was a chance they’d be discovered – enough of one that he wasn’t going to sleep tonight, but the odds of it happening had just gone down dramatically.

Hopefully, the Krauts comrades would assume he’d gotten lucky with a local and not bother looking for him until he didn’t show up for duty. It happened often enough.

Finished, the father indicated that he could try and help Eve, who was fumbling around with her canteen. Bull shook his head. The civilians had to leave now or they’d all be cooked.

He grabbed the man when he tried to protest and towed the civilian towards the back door, all but shoving him out, ignoring the judgment in his daughter's eyes as she continued to stare at him in shock and perhaps horror.

The grateful man babbled his thanks at him again and pulled his daughter out the door.

Bull turned and found Eve watching him, probably still blurry. He ducked his head and went back over to her, sitting beside her in the stall, trying to get the daughter’s horrified stare out of his mind.

He’d done what he had to. That was all.

-

"You all right, Bull?" Eve asked, trying to focus on his face. Her head ached something awful, and if he manhandled her one more time, the next time she puked, she was aiming for his boots.

He was quiet for such a long moment that she thought he wouldn't answer. "She looked at me like I was a monster," he said sounding tired.

She looked at Bull's blood covered face and tried to grab his chin. She nearly poked out his eye.

"You are not a monster," she said, chin finally in hand and neatly avoiding the humor in her lopsided actions. "You did what you had to and you saved all of our lives."

She waited until he met her eyes.

After a long moment of hesitation, he finally did, searching her face for a while before nodding the tiniest fraction. She returned his nod, much to her own peril as her head throbbed to a whole new level of agony at the movement, and let him go, closing her eyes but unable to sleep.

Overnight they listened to the Germans moving out.

She convinced Bull to sleep a few hours after the last of the noise had died down. She’d been horizontal for an hour and sleep was still far beyond her reach. Giving up in disgust, she said, “You sleep, Bull. I’m going to be up anyway. I promise, I’m okay to keep watch.”

Knowing better than to argue, Bull got horizontal and dozed off right away.

Eve hated him just a little bit for that.

Every time he would start to squirm in distress, Eve put a hand on his shin until he settled. She knew that basic human kindness, sometimes as simple as touching someone else could ground the soul and remind a person they were human. She'd seen her mama do it for her daddy after his nightmares often as a child, though then she hadn't understood. She was grateful that Bull didn't seem to have nightmares, or that they’d stopped before they were fully formed.

She woke him up about two hours after dawn. By then, the cacophony of an army moving out had vanished, leaving absolutely no noise at all – which was altogether creepier than listening to the Krauts bark at each other in German.

"You okay to walk, Ev?" said Bull once he was awake.

She nodded with a grimace and he pulled her to her feet. She stumbled a bit, her legs asleep from the long night's watch, but made it from the barn on her own power, dizziness and nausea all but a fleeting memory but negligible under her tremendous headache.

Bull inched the door open slowly and then, after confirming the complete absence of German presence, opened it wide. They walked out, Bull first, gun up and ready to shoot.

Birds were chirping almost in mockery of their long, miserable night. The sound pierced her brain like a hot poker. A chirping bird meant happiness and a brighter day, but she and Bull were stranded in occupied Holland; there was no chirpy happiness this morning.

She wanted to shoot the stupid featherhead and have him for breakfast.

As they walked through the town, quietly assessing the carnage, Bull found Miller's body, shot in the head.

He gingerly let go of Eve, and she managed to stand on her own two feet while he bent down to collect the kid’s dog-tag.

Eve sighed and sent up a prayer for the dead kid. She had liked him, this proud kid who had too much honor to wear a citation he hadn't earned.

Eve laid a hand on Bull’s shoulder when he paused, taking a long while to collect the tag, and tried to let him mourn. He hadn't been with them for long, but Miller had been Bull's responsibility, just like her replacements were hers. She wondered if she'd lost any of them yesterday. Dread filled her stomach at the thought, so she fervently sent her own prayer that they were all safe and sound with Easy.

The sound of a jeep coming up the road had Eve down in a ready position out of sheer panic, not that she had any kind of weapon to be effective, or run away in her condition if it was a threat.

Bull, better able to see, stood slowly.

It was a Jeep.

With one hand, Bull raised his gun in the friendly position – horizontal in the air with a hand around the stock – so the guy in the back, who had a heavy caliber MG ready to unload on unfriendlys, wouldn't fire on them thinking they were Krauts.

 _Looks like we aren’t stranded after all_ , Eve thought, immensely grateful.

The jeep stopped, the men on it stunned as the two Americans ambled over to their unexpected ride back to home.

It was a matter of seconds before the two had settled in the jeep. Eve quickly sank into a doze, leaning against Bull from where she’d been sandwiched between him and the driver. It was fair. She was the skinniest of the three of them.

As they drove, they came across Bull's entire squad of five – now that Miller was gone – plus a very agitated Liebgott.

Somehow, Hoobler made it to them first, laughing with relief as he saw them both in the jeep.

"Where the fuck you been?" Hoobs demanded.

"Glad to see you boys," said Bull.

"Not as glad as us," said Cobb moving forward to lean on the truck. "Bet you thought we'd given up on you there, huh, boss?"

"Shut up, Cobb," someone said.

"What?" he protested.

Eve didn't even bother to act like she hadn't assumed they'd been left behind.

“What, you didn’t think we were gonna come looking for you?” demanded Liebgott.

Eve smiled. “Looking and finding are two different things, Lieb.”

Liebgott opened his mouth to bicker, when Webster interrupted him.

"I, ah, think we should go back now," said Webster the only one sensible enough to remember they were technically still in enemy territory. The six man squad quickly piled onto the back of the jeep – somewhat precariously – and they moved out.

"Thank fuck you managed to stay together, huh?" said Hoobler.

"Thank Bull," said Eve. "He's the one who dragged my sorry carcass to safety."

"No shit, Bull?" said Cobb, "You saved the damsel in distress?"

"If you don't want to be in distress, Cobb, you'll shut your damsel mouth," said Eve with a grin. Being an ass was how Cobb showed affection, you just had to know how to read through what he was saying, but Eve wasn't exactly in the mood; her head still ached something fierce and she still hated car rides.

Being squished in this little jeep with eight guys plus the MG-gunner was not her idea of a good morning.

But they were rescued, so she supposed she didn't need a mockingbird to go with her eggs this morning.

-

Johnny Martin was among the first to greet them as they pulled into camp. The 506 had filtered back in waves, allowing the soldiers to get some shuteye between looking non-stop for their missing fellows.

Bull's squad piled off the back of the jeep where they'd been perched and were promptly swarmed by guys from Easy, eager to greet the returning heroes.

Eve slipped out of the jeep after Bull, trying not to obviously stagger as she went to find and check up on her own squad. She didn't get very far before the swarm enveloped her too, passing her around like a human teddy bear much to her still delicate stomach's distress as she moved from one rib-crushing hug to another.

"I don't know whether to slap ya, kiss ya, or salute cha!" Bill Guarnere said as he met them. He pulled Eve into a hug, laying a smacking kiss on her head and shook Bull's hand. Eve wriggled away from the sergeant – who'd obviously lost his damn mind – and was yanked into Toye’s fierce hold. He squeezed her until she felt like her ribs were gonna bust and then passed her to Malarkey, who passed her to Talbert.

"Don't you ever go missin' like that again!" growled Toye once Talbert released her. He led her over to where her squad members were all anxiously waiting to welcome her back.

"I'll do my best, Toye," she said, and shook Alley's hand, giving the man a wide smile. Lesniewski and More also shook her hand, giving her searching once-overs. Jackson, Nelson, and Baxter looked very relieved. Eve wondered how much Liebgott had tortured them in her absence, but gave them all smiles.

Squad looked after, Eve was inundated by Toccoa men all jostling to see for themselves that she was actually okay. Everything was going fine until some asshole decided to ruffle her hair and knocked the knot back there. She damn near collapsed in agony. Malarkey, who was closest to her at the time, gripped under her arms as her knees gave out and held her up, cussing out the damn fool who'd thought that was a good idea.

-

Roe watched as Skip Muck and Malarkey towed someone up the hill in his direction.

It was Buchanan.

He took a second glance, worried his eyes were tricking him, but no, it was Sergeant Buchanan they had.

She was alive.

He smiled, but quickly realized she wasn’t coming his way so much as being dragged like a limpet. She certainly wasn’t really walking under her own power. He grabbed his bag with a curse and went to meet them half way.

Eugene Roe had accepted the news that Sergeant Buchanan was MIA with considerable dread. It was unspoken but acknowledged that there was a lot more at stake for a woman POW than a man. But despite the horrors he knew possibly awaited her if she'd been captured alive, he'd prayed most of the night that she wasn't laying dead and abandoned back in Nuenen. He hadn't wanted to believe it was her on the back of that jeep, just in case it wasn't and had been working up the nerve to go down and see for himself when he'd noticed the three uniforms peel off from the center of the swarming Easy Company and head his way.

His medic persona slapped down. "Sit her down," Doc Roe commanded.

Muck and Malark lowered Eve to the lip of the road, setting her on soft green grass instead of tarmac. She gave him a blinking smile, the bright light obscuring his face with spots.

"Hi, Gene," she said.

"Good to see you, Sergeant," he said, eyes already scanning over her for blood. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"Something with her head, I think," answered Muck.

Roe nodded and ran gentle fingers through her hair, finding the bump easily even before she hissed. He studied her pupils. Even, thank goodness. Whatever it was had been long enough ago that her brain was functioning again. Probably not a fractured skull then.

"Ain't that bad," he told the two men who’d brought her up. "Just a knot."

Fortunately, the two men took this as a hint to leave them alone. Reassured, Muck and Malarkey went back down the hill to let the others know that she’d be fine.

"Bull's hurt," Ev informed him after a long blink, remembering that he was a good person to tell. "Shoulder got shrapnel in it. Had to dig it out with a bayonet."

"I'll look at it in a minute," he assured her, wanting to get her settled first. “You okay to stand now?”

She nodded and held out a hand for assistance. He pulled her to her feet and helped her get situated on the lip of one of the trucks they were using to move.

He hopped up next to her and made sure she settled onto one of the benches on the end, easiest to get her off in a hurry if needed.

Lipton bellowed from his vantage point atop a tank. "All right, mount up! Hop up! Let's move out!"

He heard Guarnere’s voice from way down below echo the order, "Second Platoon, grab your gear! Let's go!"

"First Platoon!" called Martin.

"Second squad, fall in now! Cobb, move it!" cried Bull, calling Cobb out for still sitting in the jeep.

The group surrounding Bull and his squad scattered to get into their transport trucks.

Roe pulled Bull out of line, and gently guided the bigger man to the back of the same truck he’d put Buchanan in. With firm instructions, Roe had Bull sit on truck bed in front of him so he could get at his shoulder from a bit of height.

Bull was a good sport about getting his shoulder rebandaged under his careful hand, so Roe let him get bandaged in peace.

Ev hadn’t done too bad a job. He gave her a nod, watching her sigh.

Bull was going to be fine.

The truck rumbled to life as he wadded up the used bandage and tucked it into his medical bag to throw away or wash later.

Roe looked behind them at the long road littered with abandoned vehicles. Easy Company was retreating. He didn't like it. He caught sight of Winters walking with Nixon at the back of the column, walking with the stragglers who hadn’t managed to find a truck before they’d filled up and had to join the scouting platoon. _Probably Third on scout duty_ , he thought seeing Talbert next to the man.

He wasn’t quite sure why, but Roe wanted to see Winters face when he saw that the two wayward soldiers had made it back to Easy Company just in time.

They weren’t leaving a man behind.

-

Winters caught sight of Bull first. The large man gave him a smile from the back of the truck while Doc Roe finished patching him up. He nudged Nix.

 _If Bull is back, maybe…_ , he thought, scanning the men.

"Well I'll be damned," said Nix. Catching sight of the woman they’d all but written off as dead and lost somewhere in Holland only a few hours ago.

 _So what if we’re retreating_ , Nix thought, bolstered. _At least Easy Company has their heart back._

He kept the overly sentimental thought to himself. When he’d decided Ev Buchanan was the heart of Easy Company, he wasn’t quite sure. It felt like an old notion as he dwelled on it now although it definitely felt true.

He glanced at Winters and caught the man looking at him with bemusement.

He scowled and fell into step with his friend, turning his thoughts and the conversation back to the war. "Van Koojik says that the Germans are concentrating all of their armor up near Vegal. We may be heading into more tanks."

"Well," said Winters a small smile on his lips, "as long as it's only old men and kids."

He didn't look over to see if Nixon scowled or not. He absolutely was.

Winters’s own face soured. "I don't like retreating, Nix," he admitted.

"First time for everything," said Nix.

"How are the other divisions fairing up north?" asked Winters, hoping that they had had better luck. Surely the intelligence hadn't been so completely off guard.

Nix sighed and looked away which was answer enough, and said, "I think we're going to have to find another way into Germany."

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone of you who's been reading and supporting this story. It means a lot to me. Updates are every Thursday. See you soon!


	21. Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve and Bull survive a night alone and find their way back to Easy Company.
> 
> "People didn't crumple and fall like they did in Hollywood movies. They were tossed in the air. They were whipped around. They were hit to the ground hard and their blood spattered everywhere. And a lot of people were standing close to people and found themselves covered in the blood and flesh of their friends, and that's a pretty tough thing for anybody to handle." — Col. Bert Hagerman, 17th Airborne
> 
> Now: Easy Company fights their way through Holland. It doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Antman, Laura001, AngelicSentinel, and FandomlyCroft dragged this chapter kicking and screaming into shape. It is so much better because of them, there aren't words.

-Chapter 21-

It took Eve’s head a week to stop hurting.

In that time, it became very apparent that Market Garden had failed.

The frustrating bit was that Easy Company and the 101st had accomplished their mission – they’d captured and held the bridge and the road for the armored to come up. But something went wrong on the Brits end and the promised tanks too forever to arrive. And there were far too many Krauts – well trained, well armed Germans – not the old men and kids they’d been promised.

They’d lost their element of surprise when they’d dropped in, in broad daylight, and it must’ve all gone downhill from there.

The Germans pushed the outnumbered Allies back, continuously cutting the road they had to hold for their armored to come up and get to the bridges further on.

They just couldn’t keep the road open.

Plus, whenever they entered a town, the Dutch people would throw a party until the Dutch underground came with intel that the Krauts were planning to bomb the town.

So Easy Company packed up, and left the town and the people who’d welcomed them like heroes to their fate.

It turned Eve’s stomach every single time, and it happened over and over again.

The Krauts would bomb the town, and roll back in, cutting the road.

So Easy Company had to retake the town again to reopen the road. When they succeeded, there would be another party in their honor until the whole grisly cycle repeated itself.

It was an endless back and forth and immensely frustrating.

The only reason the Krauts got away with it was that they so much more fire power at their disposal.

Easy Company was hilariously outgunned at every turn. The Tiger tanks had 88mm rounds on the Shermans 75mm round – and the Germans weren’t stingy with them. They didn’t hesitate to use a tank shell on a single man running across the field. They were faster than the Shermans too. And better armored.

The tanks started to become known as Zippos after the reliable lighters – which guaranteed that they would spark into a flame at the first strike. They were flaming death boxes with one hit by the Tigers, and there was nothing Easy Company could do to help the poor bastards trapped inside as they burned alive.

Eve threw up a lot after watching tank battles, but that wasn’t even the worst of it.

The Germans had a 105 howitzer (the big guns Easy had taken out at Brecourt) and a 270mm railgun – which might have been a myth but for the way the earth shook when it fired, let alone when it exploded half a field in one blast. Easy had nothing to match any of it, supplied with paltry little .60 mortar rounds.

Even their machine guns were superior. Easy Company only had the little 30-caliber they dropped with. The MG-42 the Krauts had blew them away with the ability to fire one continuous stream of bullets, _brrrrrrrrrrt!_ Four-hundred bullets at once where the American machine guns went _bap-bap-bap-bap-bap!_

Easy Company was surrounded. They were always surrounded, they’d expected it. But the Germans weren’t supposed to have this amount of firepower.

Intelligence had erred. Badly.

They needed to know more.

“I need a volunteer,” said Winters, selecting Second Platoon – his old platoon – to ask to do the impossible.

“What do you need?” volunteered Joe Toye.

Winters looked at the skyline, at the German line. They were being hit from all sides, shrouded in a hail of bullets all. “I need a prisoner.”

Toye nodded. “Camble, Harrellson,” he picked two men from his squad. “With me.”

“Need a hand, Toye?” said Eve, bored of retreating. Liebgott and More (another sergeant recently assigned to her rifle squad) could lead their respective squads of men on the retreat: she didn’t need to be involved.

Toye looked her over and smiled.

Needing no further invitation, Eve grabbed her gun, took a deep breath, and followed Toye into the breach.

She had no idea how they managed to make it through the lines, had no idea how they managed to find a Kraut – sleeping of all things in the middle of the fire fight – on guard duty. God must have been smiling down on them.

With a few hand signs to signal his intention, Toye handed Eve his gun and pulled his knife from his boot. Quickly, quietly, Toye snuck up behind the dozing Kraut and clapped a hand over the man’s mouth, putting the knife to his throat. Eve had her gun on the man just in case, but the Kraut put up no resistance, just dropped his weapon and went along, easy as pie.

As far as Eve could tell, the only thing the Kraut had to say – and he said it over and over again in broken English – was that the Americans were going to lose the war.

“Fat chance,” said Toye, grabbing the Kraut by the gruff and pushing the kid forward.

-

Easy Company’s luck in avoiding the bombings ran out in the Dutch town of Veghel.

The Dutch told Easy that the Krauts were going to bomb Uden, so command moved the Company to Veghel.

The Krauts cut the road behind them, surrounding the 506 but locking their sights on Second Platoon.

It was raining, the wind howling as though they’d personally offended God, when the Krauts unleashed hell on them.

It came from all sides. The Luftwaffe hit them from the air, the SS shelled them from the ground, and the tanks hit them with 88s.

The 88s blew craters into the ground and vaporized anyone stupid enough to expose himself. Men were flesh and bone one second, and absolutely gone the next, not even shrapnel left to be found of them. Just gone.

Eve’s squad got caught in an orchard just outside Veghel with the rest of Second Platoon.

She was walking next to Jackson when the first bomb hit.

There wasn’t any cover.

The plentiful apple trees that they’d picked their lunch from betrayed them now, splintering and sending shards of wood longer than Eve’s arm with enough force to skewer men.

She yanked Jackson to the ground and plastered herself to the earth. When it became apparent that the shelling wasn’t going to stop, she fumbled for the shovel strapped to her shin and started digging.

There was nothing in the world more motivating for foxhole digging than artillery fire. They dug as quickly and deeply as they could. It was the fastest foxhole Eve had ever dug.

Jackson didn’t bother with his shovel and just used his bare hands to help her shovel the loose , thick earth out of their way.

Eve plastered herself into the mud, feeling completely helpless as she spit out mouthfuls of gritty earth that forced themselves past her lips. She bit her lip keep it out and to keep from crying with fear.

Death and gore were everywhere. One man’s arm was blown off and landed in the trees above him, only to fall down into Eve’s hole. She tried not to vomit or scream, she could see Jackson doing the same.

There was nothing she could do but sit in her hole with four feet of water soaking her ODs.

Every once in a while, the guns would stop, just for a brief time, and Easy Company was able to get off a few rounds before the Krauts figured out there were still some poor bastards alive in the field and started firing again.

Eve buried her face in the mud, better the earth than what was going on above, and took everything she was seeing, everything that was happening above her foxhole, and stuffed it all in a box at the back of her mind and ignored it, praying the next shell wouldn’t land in her hole, wouldn’t take any of her guys.

The ground buckled beneath her and she screamed, the sound lost amidst the cacophony of explosions shaking the earth like a snow globe.

Jackson plastered himself to his back and shouted in her ear.

She couldn’t hear him. “WHAT?” she bellowed back.

“THAT WAS BAXTER AND NELSON!!” he shouted right into her ear.

Eve looked where her replacements were supposed to be. There was a fresh scar on the earth, a still smoking black crater where her men once were.

They were gone. There was nothing left, not even their dog tags for her to send back to their mothers.

She felt useless and helpless. They were just kids – not even old enough to buy beer back home, and yet sent to die for a couple bridges in Holland, trying to end a war thousands of miles from home.

It wasn’t fair.

Eve tilted her head back and screamed at the sky, trying to pretend the water coming down her face was just rain.

She was heartbroken.

Eve had been one of the few NCOs to have all of her replacements make it this far. Already, there’d been a staggering number of replacement casualties, but Eve’s squad hadn’t changed since the drop.

She really thought they would make it. They should’ve made it. She screamed her despair because there was nothing else she could do. She was trapped in this hole, and who knew if _she_ would even survive.

And then she got angry, angry that she was so completely helpless as the Krauts picked off her friends for sport. She found that anger and gripped it tight. Anger was more useful than despair.

It took days of endless waiting, endless shelling, endless death, before the English Typhoons gave them enough covering fire to get the hell out of the orchard.

Eve knew she was never going to forget what she saw in that orchard. She’d carry the lesson she learned there to her grave.

War was not glorious or full of valor; it was sitting in a hole being scared while death stole her friends.

War was hell.

-

As Operation Market Garden continued – rather disastrously if Eve had a vote – Eve realized that she and Bill Guarnere had a lot in common. They were both nosy. As soon as Second Platoon was stationed somewhere, Eve and Guarnere were walking the line, trying to find where the other two platoons were stationed, trying to see what kind of action those two were having.

First Platoon had the honor of being in front most of the time, so they took a lot of the casualties. Whenever someone else was being hit, that’s where Eve and Guarnere inevitably ended up.

Unless one or the other ended up leading a patrol, like tonight.

It was well past dark. The fog had rolled in and given the air a damp closeness that Eve would never take comfort in. It was eerie, especially since she’d gotten used to it in the past few months of being trapped in Holland.

Patrol was boring, but it was considerably less boring that sitting around wherever they’d dug in for the night with nothing to do but shiver in a foxhole until she fell asleep. So, Eve didn't particularly mind being on patrol for the night, it was their turn after all, and they were far from enemy lines. She didn't anticipate any problems on this one.

"Hey, anyone gotta smoke?" asked Liebgott. He glanced around, trying to gage who was the likeliest to be hoarding smokes.

Eve rolled her eyes. This was the third time Liebgott had asked for a cigarette.

She had some, but unless she needed a favor, she never gave up her stock, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him one when he was supposed to be paying attention to the landscape.

He looked around the formation. Alley gave him a grin and a negative shake of his head. More sneered at him, daring him to even ask, and then there was Boyle, who was crouched over like they were going to be jumped any second. His only hope was that maybe the replacements were stupid enough to offer up their smokes. It would certainly win them some points with him for all that it mattered.

"We're on light discipline," she reminded the man.

"Noise too," added Lesniewski scowling as Lieb started staring at him speculatively. Lesniewski was a Toccoa man, and he knew the score. Liebgott couldn’t torment him into forking over his cigarettes despite their differing ranks and Lieb knew it too. Sergeant chevrons only went so far among the Toccoa guys.

"We ain't even at the line," protested Liebgott moving on to Jackson as a more likely source of cigarettes. The new boys didn't go through them the way the Normandy veterans did. Jackson obligingly pulled out a pack and shook one of the sticks out for the now grinning man. "'Sides," said Lieb as he lit the cigarette and inhaled, "the Krauts are all probably asleep anyways."

Eve broke formation to pluck the cigarette from Lieb's hands and threw it to the ground, smothering the glowing embers with her boot, ignoring the shouted explicative at the wasted commodity.

Eve was about to reply when the air split with the brrrrrrrrrrt! of Kraut machine gun fire.

"Contact right!" she cried as though the men around her couldn’t see and hear the guns going off. "More! Pull back!"

The sergeant of her first rifle team started moving while she led Liebgott’s rifle team into laying down covering fire. Hopefully, it would make the Krauts back off for a moment until More’s team could get into a position to offer their own covering fire.

Before More’s squad could possibly be in position, a German potato masher landed right amongst her team.

When the ringing in her ears died down, Eve looked over and found Alley on the ground, riddled with frag.

"Lesniewski! Liebgott! Get Alley!" Eve ordered, peppering the machine gun muzzle flashes she could see with covering fire for the men she’d deployed. "Jackson! Covering Fire!" The replacement obeyed as the two original Easy members dragged Alley away.

"Boyle, help us!" called Liebgott when he found that he and Lesniewski were unable to bear the limp man's weight. His grip on Alley slipped in the slick blood. A whizzing noise barely preceded a biting sting on his neck. "Fuck!" Liebgott cursed as he instinctively brought a hand up to the wound.

"Damn it, Liebgott!" cried Lesniewski as he and Boyle staggered under the extra weight. "Help us!"

Liebgott obeyed, putting the injury out of his mind.

More’s rifle team opened up and Eve was able to pull back with Jackson, helping the encumbered men drag Alley to safety.

They reconnected with More’s team and Eve set the still firing team to covering their rear as they pushed their way back to Easy’s encampment for the night.

Each second wasted meant that Alley was that much closer to a death he didn't deserve. Eve cursed herself over and over for not enforcing the discipline.

They should have been safe. They’d been well away from the German lines.

But it was her responsibility as squad leader to enforce it regardless.

She’d fucked up, and Alley was paying for it.

"It's alright," she said as the barn First Platoon was stationed in for the night came into view. It was better than trying to set the man up in a foxhole, so she signaled the men and headed for it. "You'll be all right, Alley."

Eve was too busy trying to reassure the injured man to notice the rising tension between Liebgott and Lesniewski on either side of her.

Jackson got there first – due to being unencumbered – and slammed the barn door open. Eve and the others wasted no time in dragging the injured man inside the suddenly silent barn.

Liebgott called out, "We got penetration! Alley's hurt; we need the Doc!"

The barn erupted into movement as Toccoa men came out of the woodwork, appearing from the loft and shedding straw to hover around the table to see, to help.

"Get him on the table,” ordered Eve. “Yeah, it's Alley," she affirmed, answering the barked questions quickly, most of her attention on the badly bleeding man in front of her.

"Boyle, get Doc Roe!" Winters shouted, eyes only briefly leaving the man on the table to make sure Boyle was following orders.

Lipton took over cradling Alley's hand, picking up where Eve left off, whispering that it was going to be okay, over and over.

Eve heard Alley's dazed questioning, "Where am I? What happened?" It broke her heart, but she shoved the guilt down to be dealt with later as she found an ammo stash and started restocking what she'd used, using the excuse to turn her back on the room for a moment and regain her composure.

Besides, Winters would want another patrol, combat ready this time, and there was no way they were leaving her behind.

"Where was it?" Winters questioned.

“Sarge?” she heard Alley calling for her. Eve hurried back to check on her man.

She reached out and touched Alley’s hand. "I'm here," she said, voice pitched to soothe. "You did good, soldier."

She looked away as his eyes rolled into the back of his skull from the pain and found Liebgott standing next to her. He was unraveling the pressure bandage from his aid kit. It was only at that moment that she realized he was injured at all. Her eyes flashed to the red leaking down his neck and into his ODs and undershirt. He gave her a quirked smile.

 _He’ll be okay_ , she thought, and put his injury out of her mind to focus on the issue at hand.

"Buchanan?" asked Winters, demanding she answer the question.

"Sorry, sir," she said, facing him, "crossroads."

"Where the road crosses the dike," added Liebgott, finally getting pressure on the wound but unable to actually tie the bandage off properly one-handed.

"If it wasn't for your loud mouth, they'd never of known we were there," accused Lesniewski.

"Hey, you know what, Joe? Back off!" Lieb snapped back.

“Hey!” cried Eve, trying to call them both to heel.

She could see Liebgott felt guilty enough without Lesniewski rubbing it in his face. Alley was one of his best friends.

Besides, Eve felt bad enough for both of them.

Winters cut in, dispelling the argument before it could properly bloom by giving out orders: "Lesniewski, send a runner for Lieutenant Welsh. Lipton, assemble me a squad."

"Yes, sir, first squad! On your feet!" cried Lipton. The entire circle around Alley split off to go get their gear. No one was going to be sitting this one out. "Weapons and ammo only! Let's go! Let's go!"

"Give me room!" Doc Roe arrived, pushing the stragglers, including Eve, away from Alley so he could get a look at him. Eve could tell at a glance that the doc had been sleeping before the call had come in. Somehow, he didn't seem tired at all, moving with lightning speed and barking out orders. "Buchanan, get the boots off and elevate the leg. Liebgott, use the sulfa. Not too much."

"All right, let's get this done quickly; we gotta move," said Eve, yanking the boots off as quickly as she could without hurting Alley more.

Doc started checking Alley's fluttering eyes, "Hey, Alley.” Roe looked over the man quickly and then gave his helpers a dismissive nod. “All right, I got him."

Eve opened her mouth to say something, but More grabbed her arm and tugged her away from Roe and Alley still prone on the table. Swallowing the thought, Eve fell into step behind him, joining the patrol without hearing the rest of what the medic said to her fallen man.

They needed to catch up to the squad if they were going to avenge Alley.

The other squad hadn’t gone far, and More and Eve fell into step quickly enough. Luz, who’d been watching out for them from the back, nodded and led Eve at a jog to the front of the column where Talbert and Winters were on point. She caught Liebgott’s eye as she passed him, recognizing him from his gait alone, and gave him a nod. When he nodded back, scowl still on his face, she let the worry that had been lurking in the back of her mind go.

 _He’ll be fine_ , she reminded herself and focused. She didn’t blame Liebgott for what happened tonight. She blamed herself. She was the one who’d let him disobey noise discipline. She should have known better.

It was a lesson she’d never forget.

Never.

Alley could’ve died.

And it would’ve been all her fault.

Someone bumped her, and knocked her thoughts back on track. She took her regret, her worry, her lingering anger, and shoved it all down into a tight box and focused exclusively on keeping up.

The group heading out was mostly Talbert’s squad from First Platoon, with Winters leading the mission personally.

There was no chitchat or idleness to be found. It was a completely different atmosphere from Eve’s first patrol of the night. Alley lying on the table covered in his own blood was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

Quietly, they crept along hugging the raised dike that supported the road from the ditch alongside it.

From nowhere, a machine gun opened up. Every man in the line hit dirt. Eve plastered herself to the hillside, falling next to Luz. She ignored the grass that threatened to make her sneeze with the will that comes from knowing from bitter experience that even the smallest noise could draw deadly attention.

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrt!_

Talbert crawled forwards to Winters. "MG-42?" he confirmed, voice just above a whisper. Eve only heard it because she was so close to them.

"Yeah," Winters agreed. Him, Eve heard fine.

"What the hell are they shooting at?" asked Tab. Eve could hear the confusion, the incredulity in his voice as plain as if she were reading it from his face. "What's down that road?"

"Regimental Head Quarters," Winters answered, "but that's three miles away. Why are they giving away their position?"

"They ain't as smart as me and you?" was Tab's smart-assed reply.

 _Surely the Krauts can’t be that stupid_ , Eve thought with a grin. She had always liked Talbert.

She watched Winters. His helmet flicked minutely as he analyzed the situation and discarded possible maneuvers they should initiate to determine exactly what they were up against.

"I'll go check it out anyway," Winters said, deciding on a plan. "Hold here. Wait for my signal," he ordered Tab, not waiting for his orders to be passed along before he was up and cresting the dike.

He was going to scout the enemy position himself, to see if the squad could outflank the Krauts somehow, and if it was worth the risk to try going over the dike.

_What will happen if he gets hit?_

The thought drifted through Eve's mind, but she immediately ignored it. Sometimes even thinking a thing brought it to pass and she'd had enough bad luck tonight. She didn't want to tempt fate a second time, particularly with Winters's life on the line. Still, she wished he wouldn't do that. Sure, it was his determination to lead from the front that made him a great leader – Eve would gladly follow him anywhere – but Easy Company would be more than lost without Winters; it would shatter.

Eve closed her eyes and prayed that the Germans really were just moronically firing off into the distance and didn't actually have a fortified position on the other side of the dike just waiting for anyone stupid enough to come over it.

The Captain was gone maybe a minute before his head popped back over the ridge, much to Eve's relief. She nudged Luz to get his attention, but he'd already seen, scanning the peak same as Eve. He nudged her back with a toothy grin, giddy with pre-battle jitters.

Talbert relayed Winters's orders to Luz with hand signals, who relayed them down the line. Eve waited with bated breath for the signal to move.

Winters flashed the signal. Within moments, they were up and over the ridge.

They all crossed the road together, moving in a unit, crouched in the dark, each man praying that the Krauts were too dumb to be checking the road for movement.

They made it across safely and landed on the other side, waiting for more orders. Talbert detached his machine gunners and had them set up where the crest of the opposing hill met the road as their far right flank.

Winters surveyed the area. He ordered, _sotto voce_ , "This is our fallback position," he indicated with his hands, "Here! Mortars, deploy here! First squad, on me." He watched for nods and then hissed, "Go!"

Taking off at a crouch, Eve fell into line behind Liebgott.

Winters led them single file forward across the seam where hill met field. They crept forward, moving quickly at a squatted run until Eve could hear the Germans talking to each other. She held her breath for a moment, certain if she could hear them, then they could hear her. Winters put his fist up and they fell into the squatted holding position he'd just ordered while he went bounding off to scout again.

Eve bit her lip in frustration. What good would scouting do if their company CO got himself killed because he risked himself doing something she – or Talbert – could easily do?

Her brain started refuting the logic almost immediately. As the commander, Winters needed to analyze the situation quickly. The fastest way to do that was by doing it himself. Plus, firsthand knowledge of the situation eliminated the chance that someone else might have missed something vital.

If whatever maneuver he decided on was to be successful, then he needed immediately relevant data from the situation, and who better to offer it than himself?

Eve hated it when logic outweighed gut instinct. Her original point still stood; some leaders were irreplaceable – and Winters was one of them. If he got himself killed scouting, she knew Easy Company would never be the same.

All she could do was hold her breath and wait. She sent up a few prayers for good measure as the minutes ticked by and still nothing.

The air was thick and close and hard to breathe properly, especially now that she had to focus on keeping her breathing even around her mounting panic that something had gone horrifically wrong.

Movement over the top of the dike caught her eye.

She recognized that silhouette and breathed.

Winters was back. He gave Talbert the hand signal to bring up the rifles.

Eve waited for Tab to pass the signal on –per procedure – before moving forward, crouched.

When she reached the line they were going to shoot from, she slithered into position next to Liebgott, making sure only the bare minimum of herself was protruding from the rocks Winters had picked for their cover.

She didn’t startle when Winters crept behind her, but it was a near thing.

He whispered her target into her ear, sending shivers down her spine as she picked the Gerry out from the crowd.

The world stilled as she tuned everything out. She breathed deeply and focused, sighting her rifle as she waited for the signal. She’d been assigned one of the machine gunners and she wouldn’t have time for a second shot if she missed.

She evened her breathing and opened both eyes, falling into the stillness that would have been natural on a hunt in the woods. It sickened her a little, and only a little, when she realized that was exactly what she was doing: hunting Krauts. People.

It was a disturbing thought – but then her thoughts turned to Alley and her reservations went away.

The seconds lengthened. She breathed deeply, waiting.

Winters fired.

Eve's gun went off a fraction of a second after the Captain's, becoming lost in the cacophony of sound that erupted from the rocks around her, and the scrambling Germans shouting in panic.

She emptied her clip into the now fleeing Krauts, knocking as many down as possible.

"Fall back!" Winters barked and slithered down the hill.

Eve watched the fleeing Krauts, making sure none decided to turn around and fire at them. They’d come to their senses soon though, so there wasn’t any time to lose.

Liebgott was still shooting next to her. Eve touched his shoulder to get his attention. He finished his clip and then slid down the hill with her and running, stealth forgotten.

Their machine gun opened up from the ridge, providing covering fire. The boom of their mortars shook the ground. The wind brought the smoke from the impacts down to block their retreat.

The Germans got their bearings and started firing their machine guns. Long streams of bullets zipped over the Americans heads as they raced single file back to their fallback position.

"Higgins!" shouted Winters."Hammer the Krauts based on the dike, twelve o'clock!"

Eve reloaded and kept shooting, firing at the source of the tracer rounds – bright bursts of light interspersed in a line of bullets, four hidden bullets nestled between each round they could see. Liebgott landed beside her and started to do the same.

Cobb was already reloading. He’d been left to hold the fall back line with Bull’s squad. "How many Krauts are left up there?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Lieb, "but we got eight in one blow."

Winters grabbed a body and ordered him to bring up Boyle and Perconte. He ran up and down the line, ordering suppressing fire – as though they weren't already trying to do that – and generally keeping up morale.

Dawn was creeping in, the sky turning a deep blue from the pitch black.

"Hashey, Buchanan, Garcia, follow me!" he said as he ran past her. “Extend the line! Hold the line here!” he ordered.

Eve spread out with the two replacements on the far side of Winters, extending their line so it appeared that they had more guys than they did and prompted the replacements to continue providing suppressing fire. She barely noticed as Winters moved to the center of the line, back to Luz and the radio, trusting she had the new guys well in hand.

Winters grabbed the receiver and began barking orders. "Harry! Tell Peacock to bring the balance of First Platoon! On the double! And another machine gun squad. Over."

He scanned around him and found a man. "Dukeman! Go get that machine gun on the right flank. Go!"

Dukeman started to run. "Christenson!" he called to the gunner.

The Krauts hit him, and he went down before he’d made it even half way down the line.

He fell almost right on top of Luz, who announced, "Fuck! Dukeman's down!" as he reloaded his gun and resumed firing.

“Hashey,” said Eve, assessing the situation and who she could afford to send. “Get Dukeman back to Easy!”

“Got it, Sarge!” said Hashey, peeling off and going to assist the man. Eve slid over to fill in the line a bit more and checked that Garcia was still holding up well on their far left flank.

The Germans stopped firing eventually; apparently assuming Easy had pulled back.

Winters didn’t pull them back. They held the position as the sky ghosted its way into dawn.

Eve split her canteen amongst the replacements who had foolishly drunk whatever was in their own canteens on the way last night and thus had none left over this morning. Not for the first time was Eve thankful for Sobel being such an ass. Yes, it had been rough going through it at the time, but Eve knew she was far better prepared than these green kids out here because of him, and she knew better than to drink all her water right away.

"Garcia," she said to the man next to her.

She’d fixed his name in her mind when Winters had positioned them (it was always good to know the name of the guy you were set with) but honestly, Eve often muddled the names of the replacements, particularly since those of the new wave had just arrived. She did know they were both in Bull’s squad, and part of the group that had hiked out to rescue them, but she hadn’t bothered getting to know them personally.

It was a habit most of the Toccoa men had developed after the first wave of replacements in Normandy barely lasted an hour after they’d arrived. To be honest, sometimes Eve felt better not knowing their names when they died right away – and a lot of them did. After a few weeks of combat, the new boys blended right in with everyone else and became part of the unit.

“Yeah, Sarge?” he prompted.

"I'm gonna go walk the line, you good here?" she said, pretending she hadn’t been distracted.

He spared her a nod before refocusing on the line; the other replacement, Hashey, never even broke his concentration on the ridge the enemy was behind.

Eve gave both a pat on the back before she moved on. Bull had done a good job with these two.

She left them, moving up the line at a crouch. It was too dark for anyone on the dike to see her moving – at least she hoped so – but she moved cautiously all the same, carefully scanning each man as she passed them. She wanted to check on Liebgott’s injury.

Two-thirds up the line, she found Liebgott catching some sleep next to Cobb.

"Liebgott," she hissed. Knowing his name would most likely wake him up, she didn't touch him. "Hey, Lieb," she tried again when he didn't immediately respond.

Worried that Liebgott had fallen unconscious, she shot a concerned glance at an observing Cobb. She was slightly appeased when Cobb only shrugged. Apparently, he hadn't noticed anything of concern with the man.

She'd take that as a good sign.

“Liebgott!” she barked, about to give in and shake the stubborn man when he came awake with a start.

"What?" he growled, grouchy.

She felt her face lighten into a smile. If Liebgott was bitching, he was fine.

 _Thank God for small mercies_ , she thought.

"How's the neck?" she asked.

Liebgott wasn't above hiding injuries. None of the Toccoa veterans were. It made her job harder as a sergeant, but she also appreciated that the men in her squad were so dedicated to their buddies.

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Let me see it?" she asked.

He didn't even hesitate, much to her surprise, before tilting his head, so she could get at the knot on the bandage he had shoddily tied around his neck. This close to him, she could see the blood already seeping through the pressure pad.

She pulled it loose. He hissed as she indelicately pried off the tacky blood glued to his skin. She bit her lip in response to his pain but kept on anyway. Once the bandage was gone, she was close enough to realize that whatever it was that missed him had come damn close to killing her friend.

"Fuck, Lieb," said Cobb, also getting a good look at the wound. He, a veteran for far longer than she, recognized the severity of the wound immediately. A hair more they would have left Liebgott in the field as a casualty. He wouldn’t have even made it to the table like Alley.

"It's not that bad," he said.

Eve shot him a look plainly outlining that only people who were badly injured and either incredibly stupid, incredibly stubborn, or both, said things like that. But she kept the redundant statement back.

She pulled out her aid kit, and with a wave of her hand, Liebgott tilted his head again so she could pepper his wound with a bit more sulfa. He'd made a mess of it the first time around from what she could see – what with white powder still dusting his ODs and undershirt despite running around all night and a firefight – but allowed that the angle he’d been working from was terrible. She gave his neck a fresh spray of white powder.

He hissed and flinched away.

"Don't be such a baby," she chided, grabbing onto his jacket to yank him back into position.

"It fucking hurts!" he griped.

"Lets you know you're alive," she replied absentmindedly, busy unraveling the fresh pressure bandage.

"Yeah? I'll remind you of that the next time you get wounded."

She gave him a patiently amused look and wrapped the bandage around his neck. "I'm not going to be wounded again, Lieb," she told him confidently, thinking wishfully and adding a prayer. She _did not_ want to go to a hospital. "The next bullet I take will be the last, just you watch."

"No chance, Buchanan," he shot back, choking as she cinched the ends tight. She immediately loosened it up a bit so he could breathe.

"You'll just have to stick around to look after me then," she told him with a smirk, finally satisfied with the way the bandage was sitting. "That should do until Doc gets a look at you," she told him. "Make sure you see him, alright? Don't make me chase you down and drag you."

He gave her a smile that inspired no confidence in her.

She shot him a glare, knowing that he was screwing with her on purpose and went back to her spot on the line, patting Cobb on the back as she passed him. He gave her a nod that she took as confirmation that he'd look after Lieb for her and headed back to her side of the line.

On her way, she passed Winters and Tab in the middle of the line, and the Captain flagged her down.

"What's up?" asked Winters, scanning her face.

"Liebgott's wounded," she reported.

He looked worried. "Really?"

"Machine gun round clipped his neck," she said. "It's not bad."

"Okay," he said, trusting her judgment. "Make sure you get some sleep. Four hour shifts."

She nodded, knowing this drill intimately. "Yes, sir."

"That means you too, Ev," said Winters before she had the chance to dart off. "Make sure you get some sleep."

"You got it, sir," she said with a smile and left them. When she passed Tab, she gave him a teasing face that conveyed her disgust at Winters mollycoddling. He might have started coughing to hide his laugher, but it drew Winters's worried attention off her so she snuck away back to her spot on the line.

"Hey, Garcia," she said as she slid in next to him. She didn't want him thinking she was a Kraut because she'd startled him and shooting her.

"Hey, Sarge," he acknowledged, sliding down from his firing position. The clouds overhead repositioned themselves enough that the blood from Liebgott's neck staining her jacket became visible. "You all right?" he asked concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, shrugging him off. "Get some sleep. You too, Hashey. I'll take first watch."

"You got it, Sarge," said Hashey. The two relieved men got comfortable.

Eve settled in to keep watch, knowing more fighting was on the horizon with the dawn.

She stole a catnap sometime in the early hours before dawn, Sergeant Grant from First Platoon graciously spotting her so she didn’t have to wake the replacements just yet.

She woke to Garcia shaking her shoulder. He leapt backwards to avoid the muzzle of her M1 punching him in the stomach.

"Sorry," she mumbled, coming into full consciousness only after her weapon would have killed him if it had been bayonetted like it had been in her dream.

"The rest of First Platoon is here. Winters wants you to move to the center of the line to join him,” he told her.

"Got it," Eve said standing. "Watch yourselves."

She was out of earshot before she heard the man’s reply.

Fully awake, she found Tab where he’d been last night: at the dead center of the line. "Morning, Tab," she said.

"Morning, Ev," he replied, as though they were meeting for breakfast and not on a battlefield.

"Where's Winters?" she asked, noticing that he was no longer present despite her being where she'd left him last night.

Tab looked across the field. It took only seconds for Eve to spot the prone Captain, who was out on point surveying a map of the area.

"He been there all night?" she asked.

"Most of it."

"He know the rest of first is here?"

"I'll go tell him," volunteered Tab before moving to Winters's position in a belly crawl.

Eve couldn't hear what he was saying, but she had a guess.

She turned her head to count their reinforcements. The rest of First Platoon had shown up, Gordon and More bringing another .30 caliber. Lieutenant Peacock was there with Martin and Bull's squads. She didn't see Welsh, but that didn't mean he wasn't there.

Knowing her forces, she turned her attention to the tactical position they were in and the likely maneuver Winters would order.

It was obvious to her that they were at the disadvantage. The Germans could easily outflank them using the dike as cover and then the high ground to pick them off at their leisure. If they didn't move out of this ditch, the Germans would eventually figure that out and take them by surprise. It would be a slaughter.

Their only chance was to rush the dike and gain the high ground advantage before the Germans did the same to them on the other side.

Apparently, Winters understood the same thing.

He crawled back with Talbert and outlined his plan within her hearing.

He outlined how he wanted it executed. He, Lieutenant Peacock, and Talbert were going to be the squad leaders. Tab was going to lead ten guys along the left flank, Peacock would take ten up the dike, and Eve was a part of the ten meant to follow Winters up the middle.

His final order brought chills down her spine. They were fixing bayonets for close combat.

She could still feel the weight of her bayonet sliding through that Kraut boy's back from the barn. She closed her eyes to center herself again. Now was certainly not the time to think about that night. She had to focus.

"Go on the red smoke," Winters instructed, looking up and down the line at the men assembled. He waited for a breath of time, mentally preparing himself. His eyes fluttered open as he hurled the smoke grenade into the field.

He hopped out from the line and ran forward.

No one moved with him.

They couldn’t move to follow him until the smoke popped. It was protocol.

Eve waited with bated breath as she watched Winters running across the field.

He was wide open for enemy fire with no one with him to provide covering fire for when he eventually made it to the top of the dike. He’d be easy pickings for the Krauts.

She knew that once he got there, yes, he'd be on high ground, but he'd be completely alone and exposed to the enemy if they were still waiting below.

The anxiety was nearly enough to drag her after him, but her training held. She waited, terrified that this fleeting image of his disappearing back would be the last time she ever saw him alive.

Her eyes found the little silver canister hissing innocently without releasing the red smoke that held the balance of Winters's life in each second it took to deploy.

Winters was more than halfway across the field before the smoke began to waft up.

Eve popped up and ran as fast as she could, outstripping some of the boys, particularly the replacements, in her haste to get to Winters's aid.

She watched her Captain crest the hill, completely exposed as she'd feared and willed herself to go faster. Ground disappeared beneath her feet, but it didn't seem nearly fast enough. She heard the distinctive sound of M1fire. She counted the shots automatically in her head as Winters went through them. He'd emptied a clip, she realized as a long pause caused her heart to stop. Fifty feet in front of her, he knelt down and reloaded.

He was finishing off his second clip when Eve finally reached him.

It took only seconds for her to take in the situation. There were too many Germans to count, thankfully fleeing. She was hard pressed to pick a target and her first few shots went wild into the masses.

A bullet sliced through the air next to her ear, the heat and speed creating a blur of air that she reeled back from on instinct.

Sense returned to her and Eve collapsed onto her stomach, giving the few Krauts still levelheaded enough to be firing back as little a target as possible. She picked one of the ones still shooting and fired, knocking him down.

She started picking off Krauts, one by one. She emptied her clip, each shot finding a target of some kind but moved on before she really thought about it. She finished two clips when she heard Lieutenant Peacock cry, "It's a whole other company!"

"No shit!" Martin spat back.

Eve turned her attention from the still panicking Germans to the other hill where there was a swarm of Germans running down into the fray.

 _Oh God_ , she thought, fumbling with her reload as it struck her how incredibly outnumbered they were.

Winters had only brought thirty odd guys, barely a full platoon, and they were winning against a battalions worth of Germans crowding their way down the hill.

Each and every second Eve wasted reloading was another moment she was certain she was going to die – certain the Krauts were going to figure out they had the numbers and turn around to start fighting instead of just trying to run.

The longer the moments dragged – and still only sporadic return fire from the occasional Kraut – Eve was able to turn off her anxiety and focus. It helped that she could hear Hoobler, just down the line from her, once again counting again as he picked off Krauts. She'd lost her own count somewhere after the third clip, not that keeping count was a conscious endeavor. It was a reassuringly familiar sound, despite how disturbing she might find it later, once she was out of the heat of the moment.

Her tally of the men who owed her for their death was ever growing. She did the best she could to keep track and remember them all. Perhaps it was so she could mourn for them in some distant future she hoped she’d live to see, perhaps it was to somehow justify her actions to her Maker. Perhaps then she would feel sickened at the ease and exhilaration that came with a shootout like this.

Blood was pumping through her body, leaving a heady rush. Her fingers tingled with each squeeze of the trigger, each shot a spike of adrenaline to her brain. It was far too easy. The Germans ran about, not even bothering to offer resistance. It was a turkey shoot.

She could hear Winters yelling the gibberish code to call in heavy artillery fire. He must be on the radio somewhere down the line. It was already so deafening without the thundering big guns that Eve wasn't entirely sure that’s what she was hearing until he repeated himself a third time.

She registered Martin and Webster leaving the protection of the dike and turned to give them covering fire.

Scared they were heading right for an ambush, Eve kept a close eye on the pair as they scrambled down the hill to pull some Germans out of the drain running under the dike.

She quickly realized how disastrous it could have been if not for Martin’s quick thinking. If Marin hadn't noticed that grate, those Krauts could have assaulted them from the rear as they were clearing the field for wounded.

The two men quickly detained the Krauts, Martin bellowing for them to move so he could get back to the fighting.

The ground underneath the German infantry came to life, bucking and rolling, sending men flying into the air in pieces, some evaporating on the spot. Eve plastered herself in the grass of the hill, cursing. She _hated_ artillery fire.

Winters selected someone – _Boyle_ , she thought recognizing the man, genuinely surprised that he’d managed to slip under her radar when she’d checked on Liebgott last night– to scout high ground and monitor where the shells were hitting so Winters could provide adjustments to HQ Company for them to dial in the guns.

The artillery was falling much closer to them now. Each shell was inching its way not towards the Germans but towards them.

"Take cover! It's German artillery!" Winters shouted. Eve plastered herself flat against the dirt, taking stock of the men around her doing the same now that she didn't have the ability to pick off more targets.

Boyle scrambled up the hill and was standing in the middle of the road when the shells started landing around him. It was only a matter of time until shrapnel from an explosion caught him.

 _Fuck_! Eve scrambled up to go get him even before Winters called, “Boyle's down!" and popped from the line to reach the man, calling for aid again as he went. “Get Boyle, he's down!"

Because he was closer, the Captain reached Boyle first much to Eve’s chagrin. The man was lying in the road in a fetal position.

"Come on, help me!" said Winters, crouched by Boyle's head.

Eve didn’t waste time checking to see if he was alive when she finally reached the two men, just grabbed the man by his shirt at the shoulder and started towing him off the road.

Luz – the only man who’d heard Winters and had come along – grabbed the fallen man's gear before sliding after them into the ditch on the opposite side of the road.

Eve plastered herself over Boyle's exposed side and let out a grunt of surprise as Winters did the same over them both.

For some reason, God was smiling down on them and the fighting ceased pretty quickly after the battery of artillery finished.

Danger gone, Eve got off Boyle and checked him. _Still alive_ , she thought, relieved and then she looked at his leg.

It was bleeding something terrible. There was almost nothing left of his thigh, just a mess of shrapnel and blood. Eve cursed and ripped through her pockets for her med-kit and the sulfa powder. It was designed to stop the bleeding and cleanse the wound all in one go, but it hurt like hell.

Guarnere and Christenson came to help too. They were far less squeamish than Eve was, and took action on the wound with a stoicism Eve certainly lacked.

Boyle screamed as the white powder doused his thigh. Luz shushed the man, talking nonsense to keep him calm while Eve fumbled with the bandage she’d ripped free.

He screamed again as she tied it tight. Eve pushed down the bile and put more sulfa on places the bandage didn’t cover.

Someone pushed her out of the way. She looked up and found Roe already tending to the man with his usual quiet competence.

She had never been so grateful for her friend than she was at this moment, still shaking with her own helplessness as Boyle sobbed his pain in the dirt.

“I’ve got you, Boyle,” said Roe. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

Eve watched the injured man inexplicably calm down under Roe’s calm hands. There was nothing more she could do, but she didn’t want to just leave.

“I’ll stay with him,” said Luz. She looked at the radio man, but his attention was still on Boyle. “He’ll be okay.”

Eve nodded, too tired to argue, especially when there was so much else to do. With a groan, she got up to help patrol the field for surviving Krauts.

There weren’t many. Those that were still alive were eager enough to just surrender without fuss. Bull and Christenson were hauling dead Krauts into a row to be counted at the side of the road.

A quick scan of their uniforms gave Eve another shock. These were SS, Hitler’s super soldiers, with the distinctive double lightning bolt 'S's’ on their collars. But these were just kids. Some couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Only a handful of the bodies looked like they needed to shave.

No wonder the supposedly elite men hadn't even put up a fight. They were just kids.

Nixon's voice rose unbidden in her mind, recalling that the Krauts in Holland were supposed to be kids.

She was going to be sick.

 _No_. Eve thought and pushed the nausea trying to swamp her down with every ounce of her determination. She couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness, that kind of sentiment. Not here where everyone could see and think her some fainting flower again.

Eve took whatever humanity she felt at their ages and shoved it where it belonged, well away from where it could affect her. She hadn't been accused of female sentimentality yet, and she wanted to keep it that way, so she choked down any remorse she felt along with the tears. Here were boys who would never get to go home to their family, who hadn't realized the high cost of war until it was far too late to do anything about it.

_Pop. Pop. Pop. Ping!_

_Gunfire? Who the hell is still shooting?_ Eve thought, easily recognizing the M1 fire from the Karabiners that the Germans favored.

Within moments, she’d located Liebgott. The man was lying flat on his belly, using a dead Kraut as cover while he picked off wounded Germans still moaning in the field.

She watched him fire several rounds and had a long moment in which she could have said something, could have stopped him, and didn't. She shoved the part of her that was horrified by the youth of these particular Nazi elite to the rear in favor of her anger as she took note of the blood soaking Liebgott's collar again, the fresh bandage no longer enough to keep the thick red flow at bay.

She understood the anger Liebgott felt all too well. The guilt that still ached in her chest for what happened to Alley this morning and Boyle just now was like a physical weight on her.

To her shame, it was Winters who finally had enough and reprimanded her team leader.

Eve turned away as Winters assigned Liebgott prisoner transportation and then stripped him of his spare ammo.

Like lightning, Eve realized she might not like the person she was at the end of the war. She hadn't really thought of stopping Liebgott from killing the wounded Krauts – even though he was doing it for nothing more than sport – had even had rationalized it in her mind as justice.

When had she become so cold hearted?

She couldn’t judge Liebgott for his actions, though – Alley was his best friend after all – but she was deeply ashamed that she hadn’t had the strength to stop him. Not when a part of her had wanted to join him.

That no one other than Winters had thought anything of it either did not comfort her.

Sure, there was an inherent danger in prisoners. The Allies didn’t always have a place to hold them, and more often than not, the bastards escaped back to their lines to relay important information to the German command.

But the realization of the casual disregard for the lives of the enemy was chilling even as she tried to justify it in her own mind.

Eve waited until Liebgott ran by her towards the Germans before saying something to Winters.

"He feels guilty about what happened to Alley," she said, unsure if she was trying to justify his actions, or her own. She made no mention of her own guilt, though she was sure it was written all over her face.

"I know," replied Winters, still watching the man round up the Krauts. "How are you doing, Sergeant?" he asked, finally turning to look her over. With a flick of his eyes, she felt her soul laid bare for him. Her guilt and grief and rage in every line of her body. She knew because the man in front of her echoed it.

"Fair," she replied.

"That's good," he said, turning back to the battlefield, his eyes blank and searching. Eve saw that look often enough on men who'd seen too much. To recognize it on a face she knew so well was startling and terrifying. How long until her own face looked like that? Did she already have that long distant gaze in her own eyes?

Unable to bear it anymore, she changed the subject to happier prospects. "To be honest, sir, I'm going to be really happy whenever we get back to hot showers. I miss water that's not falling from the sky."

She'd pulled a smile from him. "Me too, Eve," he said. "Me too."

She wandered off and left him to brood.

The rest of Easy Company and all the accoutrements that accompanied camp had arrived and set up on the road.

Roe was serving breakfast on the road. Eve watched, making sure everyone was either in line for food or had a bowl of some kind in their hands.

Not feeling particularly hungry for mushed oats, Eve settled into the grass to lean against the hill. She closed her eyes for a moment, just trying to make everything go away. She could really use a shower. It had been more than two weeks since anyone in Easy Company had had the opportunity to get clean. Eve was almost surprised the Krauts hadn’t smelled them before they’d been able to surprise them.

Needing a break and a bit of comfort, Eve dug around in her pockets and found one of her coveted chocolate bars. She unwrapped it with reverence and took a small bite. She allowed the taste to melt into her mouth, coating her tongue with the flavor, so it could wash out the vile taste that had come to settle since the battle ended. She closed her eyes and savored it, this one good thing of today.

"Buchanan," said Captain Nixon, startling her. She looked up at him and blinked with a wince. Obligingly, he moved over so he blocked out the sun for her. She gave him a grateful smile as his eyes flicked over her, presumably making sure she was uninjured. She was glad to see him. "Have you seen Captain Winters?"

Eve nodded and pointed him in the right direction. She was aware that he already knew where to find the Captain and was just checking up on her, but she didn't mind. It was a nice gesture in any case.

Plus, if anyone could snap the Captain out of his mood, it was Nixon.

Not wanting to use more of her rationed supply of chocolate, knowing she would have many, many more days of needing a moment of happiness in an otherwise shit day to come, Eve put the chocolate away without indulging in more.

Moment of peace over, Eve stood up and got in line for the coffee someone was brewing in a giant stove pot. It was more lukewarm water than anything like coffee, but it would do. She nudged Doc Roe in the direction of Winters. The Cajun took one look and fished out some coffee for the man. Easy could always count on Doc Roe to look after his men.

-

It wasn’t until they got back to camp and Eve caught a decent nap to catch up on what little sleep she’d had the night before, that the woman realized she still had to give her report to Winters about the patrol last night.

She needed to explain why it had gone so far south and accept the reprimand that came with it.

If she’d enforced noise discipline better, Alley wouldn’t have been shot.

It was a hard way to learn a lesson.

Eve dusted herself off, shedding stray strands of hay from the straw pile she’d taken refuge in as she walked towards the CP.

Hopefully, Winters would be there and not off doing rounds or something.

_Flash!_

Eve flinched as a bright light went off an inch from her face on the right.

“Miss Buchanan! Evelyn!”

“What do you think about the war, Miss Buchanan!”

“Miss! Look this way, Miss!”

“Do you have a sweetheart, Miss Buchanan!”

_Flash-pop! Flash! Flash! FLASH!_

Eve threw her hands up to cover her face, completely unprepared for the onslaught of reporters clattering around her like carrion crows.

“What do your parents think about you being a soldier?”

“What’s it like being in the Army?”

“Pose for me, Sweetheart!”

“Hey! HEY!”

Someone miraculously slipped between Eve and the vultures fending them off with his body. She looked up and saw Captain Nixon standing barrier between her and the reporters.

“Sergeant Buchanan is unavailable for your questions at this time,” barked Nixon. He grabbed her arm and gave her a gentle push.

Eve got her legs to start moving before another damnable flash went off in her face.

“Nothin’ to see here, folks!” said Welsh, also flanking her and acting as a barricade between the reporters and Eve.

Nixon led her quickly to the intelligence hut. Eve slipped in without further prompting, Welsh just behind her.

“Sorry, folks,” said Nix with an insincere smile. “No reporters in the intelligence hut, you understand?”

He slammed the door on them, some of the photographers still clamoring for another picture or ten from Evelyn.

Eve sighed and sagged against one of the chairs, feeling overwhelmed.

She’d dealt with the press before, but never had they been like that, like she was some movie star or a somebody people gave a damn about.

“What the hell was that all about?” she said out loud, looking at the two officers.

Nixon grimaced. “There are always reporters on the front lines. We didn’t see much of them in Normandy because the whole invasion was so hush-hush, but Monty’s plan is big news back in the states. And so are you.”

“Me?” said Eve, completely incredulous. “Why the hell do they care about me?”

“You’re a national hero, Ev,” said Nixon.

“I’m being serious, sir,” said Eve.

“So am I,” said Nixon. He walked to the window and pulled the curtain. Immediately, five flashes went off rapid fire one after another. “You’re famous, Ev.”

-

Eve spent the afternoon hiding in the Intelligence hut. It was dark again when she finally left. Thankfully, the reporters were long gone, but Eve hadn’t been willing to pull the curtain again and check.

She found Winters at the CP and, after apologizing for the delay, relayed her report. 

"You did well, Sergeant," he said when she'd finished. "Sometimes accidents happen in the field. You handled it to the best of your ability and you brought all of your men back. That's all anyone can ask for. Doc Roe tells me that Alley is expected to make a full recovery after a stint at the hospitals in England."

"That's good news, sir. Regardless, I accept full responsibility for his injuries. I should have enforced the noise discipline. It will never happen again."

"You're a good sergeant, Ev. You care a lot about your men and that's the highest compliment I can give. Just don't let your past mistakes keep you from doing the job you're good at, okay?" said Winters with a reassuring smile.

Eve nodded. Winters's words were like a balm, lifting the burden of guilt from her shoulders. She still felt its weight, but she wasn't being smothered by it any longer.

He let her have a moment before he switched the subject. "How are you doing with everything, Ev?"

"What do you mean, sir?" she asked. 

“Welsh and Nix told me,” said Winters when she'd finished, giving her a look she didn’t understand. 

She shifted. “I know how to handle the press, sir. They just surprised me, is all.”

“I have faith in you, Sergeant. Your squad has the night off tonight, so I suggest you get some shut-eye. Who knows where we’ll be pulled next?”

“Yes, sir,” said Eve, saluting. When he returned the gesture, a bit surprised – it wasn’t often he got saluted in a warzone, training was a different matter – Eve turned on her heel and left the room, praying for a bit of a break after so much action.

She didn’t know if her heart could take anymore.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Any and all feedback is much loved and appreciated. Big thank you to the people who've commented and left kudos. Updates are every Thursday. See you all next week.


	22. Pegasus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company beats back a full battalion of SS troops and Eve's popularity in the states catches up to her even in Holland.
> 
> "Out of ammunition. God save the King." — One of the last transmissions sent from the surrounded British paratroopers in Arnhem during the ill-fated Operation Market Garden, 1944
> 
> Now: Market Garden has failed, Easy Company tries to hold on in the wake of defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's this week are Atman, FandomlyCroft and AngelicSentinel. All the thanks and love goes to them.

-Chapter 22-

After more than a month on the line with only the meager protection of a foxhole in the ground for shelter, Eve felt she had a visceral understanding of the damp that permeated Holland in the fall. The sky leaked all day, every day in a perpetual drizzle that kept everyone soaked and miserable.

Easy Company saw combat almost every day. The narrow strip around “Hell’s Highway” was too easy for the Germans to penetrate, causing one heck of a traffic jam as they pushed the vital supply trucks off the road over and over again. When the supply trucks got kicked off the road, it cut off not only their supplies, but also the supplies for every one further up.

They could only move around under the cover of darkness. The Germans still had the high ground, but there was no hiding in Holland’s great, sunken fields. The Krauts would’ve had to have been either blind or stupid not to anticipate every move the Americans made. They were neither. 

It all boiled down to a lot of night maneuvers.

Sleep became a precious commodity.

Eve spent most of her time running back and forth along the line – stretched far too thin along the ever lengthening line – and directing her squad under Guarnere’s directions.

There was never a shortage of work to be done, but Eve spent most of her time reassuring her squad that she was with them. Being all alone in a foxhole made you feel like it was just you against the whole German army. Reassuring the men that they weren’t alone was the most important part of Eve’s job. She didn’t have to give pep talks; just seeing her was enough for her men.

Whenever Eve did manage to sleep, it was in a foxhole, shivering from the perpetual rain and trying to stay out of the ever deepening puddles. It was absolutely impossible to get dry and if she didn’t want to suffer through another K ration, apples were the only other option.

She was sick of eating apples.

And yet, despite the miserable conditions, no one complained.

At night, when they weren’t moving to push back the Krauts, thoughts of the dead and dying were ever close at hand. Just when dread and fear was about to overwhelm them all, someone would start singing. It didn’t matter what kind of song the singer picked, it wasn’t long before the whole line was singing along. The men only knew so many songs by heart, and the same tunes reappeared over and over until even Eve was humming along.

The soothing melodies took Eve’s mind off the battlefield and the rain and death for a while and let her drift where everything was peaceful and wonderful as her thoughts would drift away for a while longer.

They tried to keep their spirits up, but they all knew the truth that was staring them in the face: the Allies weren’t getting into Germany through Holland; the campaign had failed.

The Allies had lost.

All they could do was hold on until they were officially pulled back.

They lost more men – friends – every day. Each Toccoa man lost was like losing a family member. She’d known these men for two years, become closer to them than even her own brother. There was nothing about any of them that she didn’t know, or couldn’t guess by now, from their silhouettes on the horizon to their boot sizes.

The casualty reports were mounting, and they had less and less soldiers to man the ever lengthening line.

It was a disaster.

But the most devastating blow to Easy Company came not from the Germans, but from their own commanders.

Lieutenant Winters had been taken away from Easy Company.

After Major Horton had been killed – the same night Alley got hit – Colonel Sink promoted Winters to the battalion level to act as Strayer’s XO.

Everyone in Easy Company was sorry to see him go.

A string of COs that Eve wouldn’t trust to lead her to water tried Easy Company on and were discarded for piss-poor leadership until First Lieutenant Fredrick “Moose” Heyliger finally took command of Easy Company.

Heyliger had a good reputation. He was an Easy Company man who’d been promoted into HQ Company when they'd been transferred to Aldbourne in '43 to prep for D-Day, which put him head-and-shoulders above the rest of the candidates, but Eve was of the opinion that no one would ever live up to the legacy that Winters had left, not even a man as trusted as Heyliger was.

She’d never gotten to know Heyliger personally at Toccoa – too wrapped up with trying to survive basic training _-_ but like the other Toccoa veterans, she liked him well enough. He was a reliable leader. 

Heyliger was also the first Easy Company Commander who didn’t seek her out personally to make sure she knew what she was doing, which endeared him to her all the more. Eve chose to take it as a sign that she was finally being treated just like any of the male soldiers, and took heart.

Heyliger visited the outposts at night and went on patrols. He looked after the men and never relaxed. He worried constantly that the Germans were going to cut their line again, but he bore the strain well and did his duty.

He was the best kind of leader because he gave a damn about the guys, and not just about looking good up the chain.

Eve figured Easy Company and Heyliger would get along just fine.

-

Sometime around the end of October, a British colonel swam across the Rhine and found his way to HQ. It was a complete secret, so of course the whole company knew about it within hours.

The next morning, the mood changed. The Brass started walking faster, issuing orders more sharply. The men picked up on the anxious atmosphere and started going about their tasks with more focus and urgency than before as well.

A corps of Canadian engineers rolled into town, confirming everyone’s suspicions.

Something was definitely up.

It was mid-afternoon the next day before Heyliger finally called the sergeants together to explain what was going on.

They gathered in a side room of the CP. Instead of Winters and Nixon, who’d both been transferred up to battalion, Heyliger was flanked by a man in a red beret – British from the look of his uniform.

There was no need to call the assembled NCOs to attention, everybody was waiting with anticipation.

“This is Colonel Dobey,” Heyliger introduced. “In two days, we are going to be rescuing about 140 British First Paratroopers stranded on the other side of the Rhine.”

Eve winced.

Apparently, Market Garden wasn’t going well for the Brits either.

Easy Company had known Operation Market Garden had failed within their first ten days on the ground when they hadn’t reached Arnhem. While the 506th had managed to take their bridge and had word that the 82nd had done the same, they’d taken too many casualties and they couldn’t keep the damned road open for longer than an hour for the advancement to push through. They’d met a shocking amount of resistance – especially after being promised an easy time of it – and had lost any advantage of surprise.

Hearing that the 1st was retreating – had been stranded after they couldn’t keep the road open or the supplies flowing – was a confirmation of Eve’s worst fears.

“The Canadians have brought boats with them. We’ll be training all day tomorrow. This one’s going to be a night mission, so get some rest while you can. Assemble tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. Any questions at this juncture?”

No one answered, so he continued. “They shouldn’t even know we’re coming.” This reassured precisely no one, but Heyliger grinned anyway. “That’s it, folks. Dismissed.”

“Well,” said Guarnere as he and Eve got to their feet. “So much for rest and relaxation.”

“If you spent any more time lying about, you’d turn into a rock, Bill,” said Talbert with a laugh, obviously teasing. The only way to get Guarnere to sit still was to tie him down.

Eve laughed and jostled the scowling Guarnere until he cracked and laughed too.

“How bad do you think it is?” said Bill, sobering.

“Bad,” said Eve. “The Brits were supposed to take the last bridge on the road, remember Monty saved the most dangerous job – and the one with the most glory – for the Brits. He sent the whole division.” A full division was about 10,000 men.

Bill whistled.

“A whole division, down to a 140 guys?” said Talbert. “Jesus.”

There was nothing more to say to that.

“Let’s get to it,” said Eve.

The three separated and went to ready their squads.

-

They drilled on the boats over and over again, only breaking for fifteen minutes every three hours or so all day, until the men were able to slip the crafts into and out of the water silently.

Each boat had an engineer assigned to the craft to handle any technical difficulties. Eve bribed one of the engineers and drilled him on how to operate the damn thing and for solutions for every scenario she could imagine. By the end of the day, Eve felt certain that even if some catastrophe occurred and their engineer was incapacitated that she could keep the boat afloat long enough to reach shore, if not complete the mission.

They were heading into enemy territory which was nothing new for the paratroopers, but cover of darkness notwithstanding if they were caught in the open, well, the British had literally nothing and no one left to help them. They would be sitting ducks. If the Krauts caught wind of any of this, it would be a catastrophe.

As it stood, Easy Company would need three trips back and forth across the Rhine to retrieve all the stranded Brits. The operation was set to begin at 0100.

They were in for a long, tense night.

-

At 0100 on the nose, Easy Company silently pushed off across the Rhine.

Eve was at the bow of her squad's boat, just behind the engineer. After spending all day trying to get the boat to both move quickly and silently, Eve focused on keeping each stroke of her oar as smooth and silent as possible. She tried to ignore the way water lapped into the boat regardless of her efforts.

Eve’s boots and underlying socks were already soaked, but the extra water certainly didn’t ease the tension in the mood. Every move they made ran the risk of discovery by the Germans. They had the rest of Second Battalion on the bank as backup, but if something did go wrong, most of Easy Company was stranded out in the middle of this river without any way to defend themselves apart from jumping into the river, guns and all.

It made the boat ride that much more fraught.

Eve was regretting her choice of sitting in the front, but there was nothing for it now. The poor engineer in front of her took the brunt of the waves, but Eve swallowed her share of the icy river.

It felt like both hours and no time at all before the boats finally made it across the Rhine.

The engineers hopped out first and secured the boats to the shoreline without problems. When all of the boats were secured, Eve sent Liebgott up to inform Heyliger that the boats were all secure.

They were ready.

They’d picked the spot on the river well. The natural embankment of the river acted as perfect cover, even if they had to lay down in the mud and the muck to take the best advantage of it, just in case whatever came out of the woods in front of them wasn’t friendly.

Eve held her breath and waited.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Heyliger, who’d come across in Welsh’s boat with Colonel Dobey, was front and center of the line.

After a hushed conversation, Colonel Dobey made a gesture. Summoned, a figure came out of the dark of the forest and all but collapsed in front of the colonel.

There was some sort of exchange between the men before the new man, who Eve could only assume was British too, and Colonel Dobey ran back into the trees.

"Buchanan!" Heyliger called her up. "Brits are on their way. Pass the word."

She nodded and went up and down the lines, spreading the word that what was coming out of the forest would be friendly. It wouldn’t do if someone got jumpy and shot one of the Brits they were rescuing.

It took another twenty minutes of waiting in the dark before Colonel Dobey came back with yet another man, heavier set than Dobey, who settled in front of Heyliger.

Again, there was a polite exchange before the Colonel departed once more – leaving the other man behind with Heyliger – this time running along the tree line. As though by magic, as the Colonel ran across, soldiers came forward from the shadows, apparitions in the night.

Eve tracked the weary faces of the British men. They looked battered, but when they came forward and organized themselves into groups to be ferried across the river the leading man, a sergeant himself, grabbed Eve into a fierce hug.

When he pulled back, he clapped her on the shoulder. “Thank God,” he said. “Damn good to see you, yank.”

Eve smiled back, bemused, and shuffled the man off to Liebgott and then onwards towards the boat, grateful he hadn’t noticed or seemed to care that she had a bit more padding than other soldiers. Here was not a good place for the foreign men to put up a stink about her being a female.

After the first exuberant hug, Eve avoided these expressions studiously; mindful of the vast and varied reactions she’d grown used to from surprised men.

It took three trips and a full hour to get everyone across the river. God and fate were kind to them that night. Nothing went wrong with the operation, despite the initial rowdy nature of the British men, who were all so relieved to be heading to safety at last that they completely abandoned caution for jubilation and hugs.

Eve let out a huge sigh of relief as the last boat touched back on the Allies’s side of the river. Easy Company had successfully penetrated enemy territory and managed to sneak back out with over a hundred refugees.

It was a slap in the Nazi’s face if there ever was one. It might have been a bigger one if their own line weren't full of such holes, but Eve would take the victory for what it was.

By mutual consensus, riding high on this major success after so many weeks of horrible losses and being pushed back and pushed back, Easy Company was ready for a party.

The boys took over a barn near HQ to celebrate.

The boys dragged Eve along, refusing to let her miss out despite her hesitance to drink, especially around strangers in uniform.

Scrounged alcohol flowed freely, supplementing everyone’s good mood. The Brits pulled red berets from who-knows-where and donned them with pride. They even presented one to Moose Heyliger with a flourish. Eve let the boys have their fun, but stayed out of the wine. She was uncomfortable being drunk even in the company of her friends, and she wanted her wits about her on a night like tonight, with so many unfamiliar faces.

She didn’t want to ruin this one night of victory that could be spared before they had to go back to the hard work of losing ground. So she kept herself to the sidelines and contented herself with watching the boys have their fun.

“Red Devils!” cried one Brit, soon echoed by his fellows; presumably it was their moniker.

Most of the men were well near drunk when a Colonel Dobey stood on his chair and hollered: "Wahai Mohammed!" getting an echoing reply from not only Red Devils, but enthusiastic Easy guys too.

The British commander took the stage, a colonel of some kind with an easy smile and a soothing manner. He gave the following speech: “Moose Heyliger and the American 101st have done the Red Devils a great service. Making it possible for us to return and fight the Enemy on another day. To Easy Company, victory, and Currahee!"

The man raised his glass and saluted the men before him.

"CURRAHEE!" they answered, and easily slid back into getting to know each other, competing in the way soldiers do with their most daring exploits.

Eve, having heard it all before a thousand times over, decided to duck out. It was fairly obvious that it was just going to devolve into drunken revelry from here, and she wanted to be far away when the worst of it struck.

With a nod to Liebgott, who grinned like the smug bastard he was, she slipped away unnoticed.

Movement caught her eye. The curtain slipped back over one of the top windows of headquarters.

Eve knew immediately who it was.

Colonel Strayer had been at the party with Colonel Dobey, taking due credit for a job well done. Welsh and Nixon had also been in attendance, as had Heyliger and every last man of Easy Company, regardless of whether they’d been in the boats or covering their retreat.

Everyone except one man, that is: Captain Winters. She would bet her last chocolate bar – a prize worth more than money after a month in Holland – the light was from his quarters.

She wondered if anyone had told him that apart from paperwork, socializing was now an important part of his job. She guessed that he felt he didn't belong at an Easy Company celebration, because, technically, he wasn't a member of Easy Company anymore. Which was a load of hooey if Eve had ever heard it. Once you were an Easy Company man, you were Easy Company for life.

On her hunch, she headed into headquarters, and followed the sleepy clerk’s instructions to Winters’s quarters.

“Sir?” she called up from the bottom of the stairs. They’d stashed the Captain in the attic.

“Come on up,” said Winters.

Eve rattled up the stairs, noting with trepidation the way the old wood was slanted and smooth under her boots from hundreds of years of wear.

The Captain was at his desk, hands ready to peck on his typewriter. She idly wondered which poor bastard had that on his back all this time before dismissing the thought to focus on the man behind the desk.

"Sergeant Buchanan," said Winters, obviously a little surprised to see her, "What brings you here?"

“I saw the light,” she said. “You’re not going to the party, sir?”

He smiled. “I’ve got a lot of work to take care of here, they never said anything about paperwork when I took the job, or I might’ve reconsidered,” he said, inviting her into the joke.

She smiled. “I guess not, sir. Permission to speak freely?"

He looked puzzled at her sudden formality. "Granted."

“You should be at that party. Now that you’re an officer, you should exploit any and all available opportunities to socialize with other officers, especially the ones from foreign divisions. You never know when you’ll need a favor from a friend, and parties are excellent places to meet friends.”

"I suppose if anyone would know about it, it would be you, huh Eve?" said Winters, eyeing her in a new light.

“Yes,” she said, every inch a senator’s daughter, taught to make allies to benefit her family’s position from the cradle.

"I see," he said, humoring her.

"You don't," she said and then surveyed the amount of paperwork on his desk. "Anything I can do to help, sir?" she asked.

He gave a sigh. "Wouldn't _you_ rather be at the party making friends?"

She gave him a grim smile. “To be frank, sir, I'd rather avoid any potential conflicts. If they don't know I exist, well, we'd better keep it that way." Winters noticed an odd light enter her eye as she said, very seriously, "It's a sacrifice I have to make. You know how I do so love to watch other people drink." He laughed as she knew he would. "But regardless, you're going to go down to that barn and chat up some Brits, or loiter with Lieutenant Welsh and Captain Nixon at your leisure, sir. I'll hold down the fort here."

"Really?" he said already pushing back from his desk.

"Absolutely," she said shucking her jacket. "Just point me to what you need typed up."

"Great," he said getting out of the way so she could take his chair. "Just this from these notes here," he said gesturing to the pad of paper he'd had propped next to the typewriter. "And then these," he lifted a stack of ten documents, "all need to be retyped out, I need two more copies apiece."

His reports sorted, he turned his attention to the forms he needed to fill out in triplicate. One for Strayer, one for Sink, and one for posterity's sake, Eve guessed. "If you could fill out these copies, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"Yes, sir," she said, already scanning through his notes.

"Hey Eve?" he said already at the stairs.

She looked up with a distracted hum.

"Thanks."

"Anytime, sir," she said.

His head almost disappeared down the stairs before she found the courage to say, “And sir?”

He turned back again and she looked him square in the eyes. "Stop trying to separate yourself from Easy Company, sir. You will always belong to Easy, whether you lead us into combat or not."

He waited for more but she had nothing else to add on that account. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said.

She was clacking away on the keys before he hit the landing.

-

Four hours later, when Winters finally returned to his room – well after the party ended – he had to admit that Eve was right to push him to go. He'd met a lot of people he wouldn't mind keeping in touch with, and in the social bureaucracy that was the army, it was always good to have friends.

He hadn't been overly surprised to see the light still on; he was less surprised to find Sergeant Buchanan slumped across his desk, fast asleep.

He crossed the room quietly, and couldn't help but notice the amount of work she'd accomplished, easily far more than he could have in the same time period. There was still quite a bit left, but the mountainous pile had diminished significantly.

As he was deciding whether or not to wake her, a scream of drunken laughter jolted Eve from sleep. She sat up with a gasp.

It may not have been gentlemanly, but Winters wasn't able to contain his chortle at the sight of the usually put together Ev blinking blurrily at him with a piece of paper stuck to her cheek.

She quickly batted it away and gave him a very unamused glare opening her mouth to say something that was no doubt biting.

More drunken laughter stopped the words in her throat. She glanced at the closed window with something close to fear flashing across her face, effectively killing the lighthearted mood as the men below the window began cheering and screaming for something that sounded like a pissing contest.

The woman grimaced, pointedly turning away from the window when another crack of screaming laughter caused her to jump.

“Sorry, sir,” she apologized, looking at the page that had stuck to her face with poorly disguised disgust. “Let me just tidy this up and I’ll get out of your hair. Let you get to bed.

"It’s all right, Sergeant,” he said. “I’ll take care of that in the tomorrow.”

“If it’s all the same, sir, I’d like to finish.”

Knowing he was beaten, Winters let her continue tidying up the desk.

She worked quickly, presumably planning to make a run for it before the men outside lost what was left of their sense, and clearly anxious about it from the way her shoulders hugged her ears and every raised noise received a badly concealed flinch.

Concerned, Winters searched for a reason for her unease.

No one had harassed the woman to his knowledge since entering combat. He trusted that even if she hadn’t reported it, the other men in Easy Company would have if it got beyond what they could handle.

Buchanan was certainly capable of handling herself against a few happy drunks. The incident from the last time they were in Aldbourne flashed through his mind and suddenly Winters understood.

No wonder she seemed as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. Despite it being just a few short hours from dawn, Winters knew from experience that the men would be at it for hours yet.

He suddenly wasn’t so sure about the situation himself.

Winters glanced around the small, isolated room and made up his mind.

“Ev, why don’t you sack out here? I'll go double up with Nix so you can have this room to yourself."

She looked confused. “Sir?”

"I don’t think this celebration is going to end anytime soon," Winters remarked dryly, thinking of the antics he’d witnessed on the short walk back to his room. "And I'm sure you don't particularly want to try and get to your billet right now.”

"Sir, I'm sure I'll be fine," she tried, despite looking desperately hopeful.

"Sergeant, you're staying here for the night. I'll make it an order if I have to," he said sharply, her fear deciding him.

"Yes, sir,” she said, bowing her head.

“Besides,” he said, softening, “this door locks.”

She huffed a laugh, and gave him a grateful smile before her gaze snagged on one of the papers she was sorting. She bit her bottom lip and her hand unerringly found the pen that had rolled to the bottom of the pile and started filling in the missing information and then filling in another one under Winters's amused stare.

He made short work of gathering up the things he’d need for the morning, and after one final sweep, headed to the door.

“Is there anything you need from your billet?” he asked.

She blinked up at him. He watched her process the question, visibly switching gears. “No, sir,” she said after a moment of thought.

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll get out of your way then, Sergeant. See you in the morning.”

He was turning the knob when she said, softly, “Thank you, sir.”

He looked back, unsurprised to find her staring back at him. Unable to find a suitable reply, he simply settled on saying: “Goodnight, Ev.”

“Goodnight, sir,” she answered, formally replacing the distance between them.

He left the room, closing the door tightly behind him and waiting for the scrape of his desk chair sliding across the floor and the heavy bolt sliding home reached his ears.

With a smile, he went to go make himself at home in Nix’s abode. With luck, the man would already be in his room, but Winters knew it might be just as likely that his friend was still out celebrating.

Optimistic and knowing Nixon wasn’t heartless enough to evict him no matter how smashed his friend was, Winters smiled and looked forward to getting some – hopefully uninterrupted – sleep, pleased with the outcome of today. Moose was a good man, and he’d proved that he could handle himself – not that there was much doubt.

Easy Company would do find under Heyliger, he was sure of it.

-

Eve woke up with the dawn most resentfully a very few hours after falling asleep and immediately set about vacating Winters's room.

She quickly made up the bed and scoured the room to erase any evidence of her presence out of courtesy, before slipping down the stairs and back to her billet, hoping to catch a few more ‘Zzzs’ before turning out for drill.

She didn't think Heyliger was the type of man to call them out for drill at 0 dark 30 this morning, especially after seeing him so deeply in his drink before she’d left the party – very early on at that – but she figured she needed to be there with the poor bastards just in case it happened anyway.

Eve smiled all the way to the temporary barracks, enjoying the foggy morning dew. It had been nice, sleeping for once with a locked door between her and the world, and she was grateful that Winters had let her borrow his room for the evening. She hoped everyone had been too into their cups to notice that she hadn’t quite made it home last night.

It wasn’t as though her reputation could possibly be damaged further among the new members of Easy Company, but she didn’t want to be seen as someone who took advantage with officers either. She could just imagine how badly that would go, and hoped no one had had the sense to worry about her last night.

Resolved to deal with it if it arose, Eve forced herself to relax. She hadn’t felt this refreshed in quite a while. As such, when she slipped quietly into the room her rack was in, she laid down for a little extra sleep rather than make any trouble.

Winters might have known that he'd saved her billet from having to deal with a sadistically cheerful Eve when he'd given her a full night of sleep. As such, she generously let the boys sleep off their inevitable hangovers a little while longer.

-

For better or worse, no one seemed to have noticed Eve’s absence that night, and life returned to normal – or what passed for normal in a warzone.

Easy Company spent the rest of the month bouncing around Holland, desperately trying to keep their ground and being bitterly forced to retreat despite their best efforts and countless lives wasted against the seemingly never-ending German artillery assaults.

Bill Guarnere was pulled from the line after a motorcycling accident. Fool that he was, Bill had stolen the bike and then cut across an open field. Some sniper got lucky and pinged him in the leg. He managed to get back to the lines under his own power, but he’d been evacuated to England and the hospital there.

Though he was expected to make a full recovery, Eve missed him fiercely. She hoped he wasn’t out long enough to get reassigned to a different unit, which was the SOP (standard operating procedure), and probably the dumbest thing the Army did. Eve hoped Bill had the sense to go AWOL and get back to Easy Company before it happened to him.

Eve was picked to act as Platoon Sergeant until Bill returned, because she had more seniority than Malarkey. She tried to keep busy and keep her platoon both entertained and in fighting shape; a task occasionally accomplished with the same activity, like going on patrol.

They'd had sporadic encounters with the Germans but for the most part, the Krauts were content to stay on their side of the line, rarely engaging in combat. Eve didn't mind the break, but it caused some boredom and restlessness amongst the guys, particularly the replacements who were either eager to get their ODs dirty or eager to impress the Toccoa guys – Eve wasn't sure which it was but either way, it made them harder to corral.

They’d just moved into Driel when disaster struck.

Eve had volunteered to cover Liebgott’s night patrol on what might have been Halloween back home. Keeping track of the days was never easy in combat, so for all Eve knew it was already November.

For some reason, there was a sinking feeling in her gut, an anxiety she couldn't chase away. She knew better than to try and get some rest; she'd just toss all night if she tried. Besides, if she couldn’t sleep anyway, she might as well not sleep on watch while Liebgott got some shuteye.

The ever present fog made the air thick and dense like a cocoon, swaddling Eve and obscuring any potential threats. All the hair on the back of Eve’s neck was standing on end. Each crack and chirp turned into an invading enemy.

The whole thing was ridiculous, she knew it was ridiculous. She slumped back against the ambulance for a moment before regaining her posture.

She was just guarding the aid station and HQ and thus was positioned well behind the lines. There was no reason she should’ve felt as tense as she did, but every hair on the back of her neck was raised as she scanned the fog in front of her for danger.

Hushed masculine voices had her gun up and ready before she recognized one of the men as Captain Winters. It was only when they’d materialized from the fog that she recognized the other man as Lieutenant Heyliger.

Feeling foolish for overreacting, she feigned nonchalance and saluted the two men.

Winters had taken to going on walks with Lieutenant Heyliger to reassure the man about his commanding position in Easy. Despite being a Toccoa man, Moose had been in a different Company for every combat action Easy had undergone. He was understandably nervous; Easy Company had an unbreakable bond and didn’t take to outsiders lightly.

Personally, Eve figured Lieutenant Heyliger was doing a fine job so far. He hadn't even felt the need to sit her down the way that Lieutenant Meehan and Winters had when she'd been placed with them. Instead, he trusted her to do her job without any hesitation.

For his faith in her alone, she would have respected him, but he’d also proven levelheaded during missions too.

Eve figured if Easy Company couldn’t keep Winters – and he was too good a leader to be kept to just one Company – then they could do a lot worse than Lieutenant Heyliger.

The men had been gone for about ten minutes when the sound of distant gunfire – three or four shots – startled Eve. She raised her gun, already categorizing the weapon as an M1, not an enemy. There was no answering fire.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Gunfire wasn’t exactly uncommon, even this far behind the lines, but her dread deepened.

Her worst fears were confirmed when ten minutes later, the choking growl of a jeep sliced through the fog with its noxious diesel. It zipped passed her, giving her just enough time to recognize Lieutenant Welsh and Captain Winters riding passenger, Heyliger propped up between Welsh's legs, a flashlight bright on his face to help keep him awake before the jeep screeched to a stop in front of the HQ where Eve was standing guard. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eve said, and ran to help. Welsh wouldn’t relinquish his grip on the Lieutenant. Eve did a check that she’d seen Roe do a hundred times, and tried to see if the man’s pupils were the same size.

They weren’t. One was blown wide and the other, a pinprick.

_Fuck._

A replacement, Eve hadn’t even noticed, tumbled from the back of the jeep and started babbling in the Captain’s ear as the red head briskly opened the cold ambulance doors.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm so sorry!" the kid babbled, knowing enough not to get in the man’s way, but not helping either. "I didn't know. Jesus Christ!"

“Where’s he hit?” Eve asked Welsh, determined to keep the man together until someone more qualified arrived, putting together the shot’s she’d heard a few minutes ago and the dark red patches on Moose’s shirt.

She pulled out her aid kit out and fumbled for the bandage.

“Gut shot’s the worst, went right through,” said Welsh, leaning the lieutenant forward so Eve could wrap her bandage around him to get some padding on the other side of the wound. “He got hit in the shoulder and the leg too. We didn’t have enough bandages for it all.”

“Jesus Christ,” breathed Eve, feeling Heyliger’s leg for a bandage – and finding it soaked through. She quickly stripped off her jacket to use as a shoddy tourniquet if the vein in the leg had been hit, unable to think clearly beyond the familiar cloying scent of blood filling her nostrils.

"Where are you from, trooper?" Eve heard Winters ask, trying to get the kid's mind on something else.

"Wyoming, sir."

"Well, you're a long way from home, Private." He turned away and yelled, "Stretcher!"

Doc Roe appeared like an angel from nowhere and grabbed Moose from Welsh. "I got him, Harry, Ev,” he said with authority in his tone.

It took Roe less than a second to notice what Eve had completely missed. “You give him morphine?" he asked, noting the limp, ragdoll way Heyliger's arms and legs flopped about.

"Yeah," said Welsh groaning as he moved to help Roe lift the man onto a stretcher.

"How much?" demanded Roe.

"Uh, can't remember," Winters admitted as he helped pull Heyliger's feet onto the stretcher.

"Two? Three syrettes maybe?" said Welsh, lifting the leg Winters wasn't.

"Two, three syrettes maybe?" repeated Roe, nearly spitting the words out as he muscled Moose's torso onto the stretcher.

"Yeah," Winters admitted, his voice tight with fear in a way Eve had never heard before. She backed up and got out of the way, feeling the slick slimy coating of blood slowly sinking into every line and wrinkle on her hands and hardening into crusty flakes.

"Jesus Christ! Were you trying to kill him?!" Eve had never seen Roe so spitting mad before.

"I think it was two," placated Welsh, putting a hand on Roe's arm for a moment to calm him down, but the man didn’t sound nearly confident enough in his assessment for Roe to believe him.

"You don't think it might be important to let me know how much medication the man has had? Huh? Because I do not see one syrette on the man's jacket!"

"Sorry, Doc," said Winters, sounding like he was the one in pain.

"Sure is a good thing he's a big man." Doc said, muscling the stretcher into the waiting ambulance. "Maybe he'll stand a chance."

"He was in a lot of pain, Doc," reasoned Welsh, "We didn't know what to do."

Roe whirled on him in fury. "Yeah, well you oughtta. You know you are officers, you are grownups, you oughtta know." He hopped up into the truck. "All right, let's go. Come on, move it!" Winters got the doors latched closed and patted on the window, leaving a bloody smear behind.

Eve had watched it all without interfering, feeling sick. She _liked_ Moose.

Only when the ambulance had been engulfed by the night did she move to join Winters. He didn't seem like he was going anywhere for a while, still staring after the ambulance.

"Sir," she said, approaching the man carefully. "I'm sure Lieutenant Heyliger will be alright. He's in the best hands."

"We could have killed him, Ev," said Winters, quietly.

"But you didn't, sir, and next time, you'll know better." She looked around to where Welsh was now sitting in the jeep, staring at his hands. "You might want to go talk to Welsh, sir," she said. If there was one way to get Winters out of his head, it was give him someone else to take care of.

He nodded and headed towards his friend.

Eve took his place, watching the ghost of the ambulance’s path and wondering, _Who will look after Easy Company now?_

-

It was two days before Eve saw Roe again.

He was very obviously still angry, but shared easily enough that Moose, while out of the fight, would probably make a full recovery.

“You did good work with the bandage,” he reassured her, remembering once upon a time Eve hadn’t even managed a dummy full of straw.

“I had a good teacher,” she returned, and smiled at him.

It was quite for a time before he spoke again. “They could’ve killed him.”

“I know,” she said and let him sit quietly. If he needed to speak, he knew she was here to listen.

-

Roe knew full well that his was a temper that built up into a boiling furnace before it exploded. When it happened, it took a little while for the embers to cool before he could start sorting through the ashes and be rational again.

In light of that, it took Roe a week or so before he could even look at the men responsible for overdosing Heyliger – they’d been trained over and over again to know better. Even so, he realized that he might’ve been out of line yelling at a superior officer like that, despite their deserving it.

Still, he figured he owed Captain Winters an apology.

Not one to shirk doing what needed to be done, upon making his decision, Roe immediately sought out the Captain.

"Captain Winters, sir," said Roe, standing before his CO, back straight and formal in a way most of Easy had forgone, "I came to apologize for my behavior the night Lieutenant Heyliger was shot, sir. I was out of line."

Winters seemed flatfooted, but recovered enough to protest. “Doc, you were well within your rights to be angry. Harry and I acted rashly despite knowing better. He was just in so much pain...” Winters sighed. “There’s no excuse. It won’t happen again.”

It was more of an apology than Roe had been expecting.

Winters must have seen as much on his face, because he put his hands on Roe’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye to say, “You’re a good medic, Eugene. If taking care of Easy Company means yelling at a few badly behaving officers, then that's what I need you to do. You have my permission to be out of line whenever you see something that concerns you. I want your word that you will not hesitate to bring any deficiencies in medical training to my attention immediately so mistakes like this only happen once. I'm relying on you to let me know, so I want you to keep your eyes open. Understood, soldier?"

Roe nodded, grateful once again for Captain Winters. It wasn’t every officer who not only understood where he’d been coming from, but commended him for reprimanding a superior officer _and_ insisted he do so in the future should the situation call for it. He had been half expecting a court martial.

“Yes, sir,” agreed Roe with a nod.

“Good,” said Winters. “It’s behind us?”

Roe nodded again, gave the man a soft smile, and left Winters alone.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support. I really appreciate each and every one of you for leaving such wonderful feedback. Updates are every Thursday.


	23. Mourmelon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company mounts a successful rescue of the British First Airborne, and loses their Company leader once again. 
> 
> “You learn more from losing than winning. You learn how to keep going.” ― Morgan Wootten
> 
> “Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.” ― Nora Ephron
> 
> Now: Easy Company get’s pulled out of Holland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta’s: Laura001, FandomlyCroft, Atman and AngelicSentinal were all essential to making this chapter what it is. They get all the credit and love because I was a bit of a menace on this one, and switched up the chapters on them with very little warning.

**Trigger Warning: There is an attempted sexual assault in this chapter. It is foiled before anything graphic beyond groping occurs. That said, read at your own caution.**

-Chapter 23-

Once Heyliger was evacuated back to England a new lieutenant took over Easy Company; Norman Dike, who was a stiff military-career type. While Heyliger had been hand selected by Winters, Dike had been sent to Easy Company from division HQ – presumably for his leadership abilities.

Easy Company learned right away not to trust the man. He wasn’t a good soldier, let alone a good leader. The boys gave him the nickname “Foxhole Norman” after just one day in the field with him.

Not that anyone seemed to be able to find him to tell him so. Dike had taken to disappearing for long stretches of time – even when they were supposed to be in the field, even when Easy was engaging the enemy – and most of the guys figured he was either off cowering or showboating for the brass. Eve wasn't sure which scenario was the worse insult. There was nothing more infuriating than a man receiving praise for doing a piss-poor job, but that was typical Army: shit rolled downhill, while praise flowed up. This was a known fact.

Honestly, Eve thought the boys were being too hard on the man. It was Dike's first time in combat after all. Not everyone could be a leader like Winters right out of the gate. Maybe Dike had a legitimate reason for disappearing? Maybe he was off getting advice like Moose had. Not everyone actively sought out combat like she and Bill Guarnere did, even among the Toccoa men, they were a rare breed.

Besides, it didn't really matter who was running Easy Company because they were cuckolded by command. Orders came down from up on high and there wasn’t anything Dike or anyone else could do about them. Therefore, Dike’s ineptitude ultimately didn’t affect much beyond being mildly annoying. Easy had muddled along with a lackluster commander before – albeit in training, and they’d had some inept lieutenants all along.

Eve had seen these kinds of commanders before. Dike was just here to get some combat experience under his belt and then he'd move up the chain. All Easy had to do was grin and bear it until he'd reached the magic of quota.

Before Eve realized it, November was ending. It became official – Market Garden was a resounding failure.

Easy Company had been on the retreat for the first time ever and Eve didn’t like it one bit, but after so long experiencing the realities of losing, Eve was just tired.

They’d been bouncing around Holland for seventy-three days (eighty if you included the marshaling area before the drop) when a Canadian unit relieved Easy Company from the line. The exhausted 506 was transported back to France to recuperate.

Eve was honestly too eager to get off the line to even bother figuring out the Canadian unit’s name. She was more excited about getting a shower than she was about the food or the down time. They’d been on the line so long the grime and mud was starting to feel like a protective layer of filth.

They were being stationed in a small town about twenty miles out of Reims called Mourmelon-le-Grand. The Army had turned it into a proper staging area. The general consensus from the top down was that the war was just about over. Surely, Hitler had nothing left to give.

There were rows upon rows of green tents in neat lines waiting for them like a legion of canvas soldiers, promising shelter and protection for the time being.

It was raining. It had been raining in Holland too, but France was colder, for all the sense that made what with it being farther south.

Eve couldn’t have cared less about any of it, because the first thing that happened when they got off the trucks was they were issued new uniforms. The supply officer didn’t even bother to look at her as he slapped her new, folded, ODs into her hands.

There were Staff Sergeant chevrons on the sleeves.

Eve had been doing a Staff Sergeant’s job since Normandy, but the Army was so far behind pushing through promotions, she’d been doing it unofficially. The chevrons implied she now had the pay raise to go along with the responsibilities of leading a squad of men.

The ODs were also two sizes too big, and a summer set of thin cotton, but Eve didn’t even care. Equally exciting was the chance to use the toilet in private – with a locked door to prevent someone from _accidentally_ happening on her on her slit trench. She’d been lucky so far, but she’d rather have a lock on the door in any case.

Eve spent as long as possible in the shower, raking fingers through her hair, trying to itch off the filth lining her scalp. It had been so long that it felt weird to finally be clean again. Her hair had stopped feeling greasy a while ago, but the discomfort had still been there. Even using a bar of soap, it was the softest she could ever remember her hair feeling in a long time.

Finally clean, she walked into the green tent housing Second Platoon.

“Well, look who it is?” drawled Toye. “Thought you were gonna drown in all that water.”

Eve smiled at the good-natured teasing and found the empty rack with her gear on it. “Real sheets,” she commented.

“Pillows too,” said Toye smacking the one his own head was on. “I could sleep for a goddamn week.”

Eve groaned as she pulled her feet one at a time onto her cot, letting out a deep sigh as her wet head hit her pillow. She choked on a laugh as she realized she hadn’t even bothered to get under the sheets, and she was too damned tired to do anything about it right now.

“Hey, Ev,” said Lieb from the rack next to hers.

She groaned. “What?”

“Sleep tight, princess.”

“Fuck you,” she shot back.

The whole bunk laughed as they slipped off into their first truly deep sleep since jumping out of that C-47 all those months ago.

-

The next day, Eve woke up, feeling heavy after such a long time sleeping. Most of Easy Company was headed out on a train to Paris, especially with their back-pay coming through.

Now that they'd been pulled off the line, the Army saw fit to issue 48-hour passes to the men, for anywhere they wanted. But no one was in any hurry. It wasn't like they were still on the front sleeping in foxholes and scrounging for K-rations. In Mourmelon, they had actual beds in a warm building. They had a mess hall with real food and legitimate running water. It was the next best thing since Aldbourne. Right now, Eve was too afraid she’d wake up still in a foxhole in Holland, all this a dream, to risk waking up in an unfamiliar place surrounded by civilians.

She wasn’t alone in that feeling, but most of the other veterans had scattered before she’d even convinced herself to roll out of bed, if not to Paris then to Reims or London or somewhere they could find entertainment.

Eve was exhausted, and after three months of being constantly on the go she just wanted to sleep for a week.

That said, there was only so long she could convince herself to lay abed after being irrevocably conditioned to be constantly on the move.

There wasn’t much to do for bored soldiers on the base, except play cards or get drunk. Since she didn’t do the second, Eve was limited to the first.

“Sergeant Buchanan, would you like to play?” one of Toye’s replacements, Henderson, offered. The rest of the players were replacements from different squads and platoons who’d all come in together.

She wondered if they were offering to let her play out of pity, or if it was some scheme of a joke. Her own replacements were conspicuously absent.

“I don’t think you want me to play,” she said with a smile, trying to let him off the hook.

Henderson’s brow furrowed and he glanced at his friends. “Sure we do, Sarge.”

Eve wavered. On the one hand, she was bored out of her mind – solitaire could only hold her attention so long. On the other, she really didn’t want to alienate the new replacements, especially Henderson after he was fitting in so well.

She sighed, boredom winning. “Okay,” she agreed, catching the excited look traded between the replacements. “What’s the game?”

After soundly trouncing the replacements, all who cried “beginner’s luck,” Eve suddenly found herself victim to an onslaught of potential opponents, replacements and Toccoa men alike.

It kept her occupied for most of the night.

“No one can be that lucky all the time,” said Malarkey. The redhead had decided to spectate after only one game with Eve. He watched her pull card after card from impossible odds, much to her opponents frustration. Luz was the only one stubborn enough to keep playing, even after everyone else had gotten bored of losing and left the barracks for other pursuits.

The radioman kept upping the ante, trying to win his losses back, but Eve solidly trounced him time and time again.

Eventually, Luz refused to gamble with her anymore after she took nearly five hundred dollars off him in one sitting. He was under the impression that she cheated at cards for some reason. Perhaps because she did.

"Now, Luz," she said, falsely sincere. Most of the other boys had found other amusements, but Eve had stuck to the barracks with Malark and Luz. "Would I do that?"

Malarkey, who'd been cleaning his M1 and watching the slaughter, looked up, "You're too good to need to cheat, Ev."

She beamed at him and then shuffled the deck a couple times, showing Luz the Ace of Spades, her favorite card, and then showing it again from the middle of the pile, and then flipping the top card to reveal it. He threw his hands up in disgust, though his eyes were laughing.

"Want me to teach you?" she offered.

"Sure!" he said. And so, Eve set about teaching the two boys some of the same sleight of hand she'd learned from her grandpapa before he’d died.

She showed them how to use their hands and fingertips to keep track of certain cards. How to force someone to choose a card from a fan, and a couple other tricks she'd learned at her grandpapa's knee. When she'd run out of tricks, and they'd run out of patience practicing them, she asked if they’d like to play rummy with her.

“Not a chance, Ev!” cried Malark. “You’d probably know all my cards before I did.”

Eve laughed. “I’d let you deal,” she offered, but ultimately couldn’t entice the men to play with her. At a standstill, she started dealing out a hand of solitaire.

“What about craps?” said Malark. He was a great fan of the game. He was forever hounding Muck and Penkala for loans. Anyone who needed a loan for the game obviously wasn’t very good at it, in Eve’s opinion.

“Why not?” agreed Luz. “You ever played craps before, Ev?”

Eve shook her head, not looking up from the handful of cards held precariously so they wouldn't get mixed up when she moved the pile.

"Seriously?" demanded Malark, setting aside his rifle for the first time that night in his excitement. "Never? Why not?"

Eve huffed a laugh. "It's not a game for broads," she said, impersonating Bill Guarnere’s taunting words and his Philly drawl.

"You're not a broad!" protested Malark.

She raised an eyebrow at his indignant form, amused.

"Well, she sort of is, Malark,” said Luz. “But seriously, Ev, you're one of us. Not just some broad.”

Eve nearly dropped the delicate pile she was holding.

She was glad she was staring at the suits rather than the boys. She cleared her throat; it wouldn't do to prove them wrong by getting all emotional on them now. She'd known she was one of them for a long time now, but to hear them openly acknowledge it when they weren't in the thick of fighting was – well, she couldn't think of a word for it, but it felt good.

"I'd like that," she said neutrally.

"Great!" said Luz. "Finally, a game where I can take money off you."

She and Malark laughed.

"Alright, you can play this with dice too, but this way is more fun. And you don’t have to keep track of a pair of dice or have so many people. The first rule you need to know is…" began Malark while Eve packed up her half-finished game and gave him her full attention.

-

According to Nixon, no one expected Easy Company to see combat again until March, at the earliest. The men started to view France as a much-welcomed vacation.

Even the commanding officers had taken the reassurance to heart. Almost all of officials of note had gone out of the country. General Taylor was attending a conference stateside, though most of the men figured he wouldn’t be back anytime soon (apparently, he'd found that he didn't like getting shot at). The 506 was directly under McAuliffe until he returned, if he returned. Lieutenant Colonel Strayer was off in London attending Colonel Doobie's wedding. He and his British counterpart had become friends at some point during Operation Pegasus. Even Winters went into Paris on a 48-hour pass.

Despite the liberal distribution of passes, boredom ran rampant. The men who'd been under large amounts of stress in combat suddenly had nothing but alcohol and gambling to occupy their time. To keep the men from boredom, command set up a football game with the 502nd for Christmas Day. They ran movies every night. It was almost as good as being home.

Training resumed – but nowhere near what the men had undergone at Toccoa. The urgency had gone with the officers, but there was still plenty to do.

This was an area where Dike excelled. He had them marching back and forth across a tarmac for drills, about-facing over and over in parade lines. Granted, most of the guys in the company were replacements and could use the practice marching for long periods, but the odds that they would need a parade formation march were slim. It was all very textbook, and not very practical for the real world. Especially since most of the newcomers had barely eight months of training under their belt and seemed far too young to be soldiers let alone paratroopers.

Eve had three new boys to replace Alley, Baxter, and Nelson. Sooth looked too young to shave, with an earnest face under floppy blond hair and green eyes. Weston had brown hair and dark brown eyes but had a sharp look about him. Marx was a solid kid, nearly Bull’s height with brown curly hair and grey eyes.

It took less than an hour for Eve to discover that none of the boys were happy about being in her squad. Eve wondered if they'd ever get replacements who didn't feel the need to prove how masculine they were by insulting her gender. It was too much to ask that the boys be thrilled to be joining a unit that had already been awarded a Presidential Unit Citation for valor – instead all they saw was that they’d be fighting under a woman.

She faced them as calmly as she knew how and tried to let everything sort itself out like it had last time. It wasn't as though the new kids had thought up anything new to call her. It was just exhausting to face the same recycled bullshit on top of everything else.

Neither Sooth nor Weston said a word about being placed under her within her hearing, but she didn’t know how long that was going to last; especially since Marx had no problem showing his displeasure.

It made it all the more unbearable that their fitness levels were absolutely abysmal. She couldn’t get them to improve without them acting as though she was trying to humiliate them. She hadn’t had a real chance to evaluate their shooting yet, but she had a feeling it wasn’t going to be promising.

Eve did her best to help to them anyway. Quietly offering tips to outright correcting mistakes that fell within training parameters but were ultimately foolish in a combat situation – like making sure you landed with your weapon ready to fight, or that the first thing you did whenever you stopped was dig a foxhole for protection. She did her best to quell her disappointment when these tips were snubbed and tried not to be too disheartened.

“I don’t know what to do, Lip,” confessed Eve to the First Sergeant one night after training. “Every time I try to tell the something, Marx looks like I’ve mortally offended him and Sooth and Weston act like I’ve killed their puppy or something. What the hell am I doing wrong?”

“Maybe it’s not about you, Ev,” said Lipton. “Everyone’s bound to be nervous coming into a unit like this. They’re probably worried about letting you down.”

Eve sighed. “If you say so. I swear to God, this wave of replacements shoots worse than the last one.”

“Maybe try talking to them outside training?”

Eve shot him a look. “I’ve tried. They keep stonewalling me.”

“Keep trying,” said Lipton. “They’ll come around. I mean, the rest of us did, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think we have that kind of time,” said Eve thinking about the two long years she’d worked to earn the Toccoa men’s respect.

Lipton clapped her on the shoulder and gave her a last reassuring smile before wandering off.

-

"Hey, Eve," said Luz as he flagged her down. She was just taking a walk to stretch out her legs. She was really getting sick of sitting around playing solitaire. She was getting pretty sick of tripping over drunk people, too.

"What?"

"Wanna come play poker with us?"

She raised an eyebrow. The real question was: _who_ wanted to play poker with her? "Who's us?"

"Oh you know," he said, falling in step. "Me, Buck, Liebgott, a few replacements." She missed a step and stared at him. His grin said it all.

"I'm in," she said.

-

“Goddamn it!” snarled Marx as his gun jammed for the third time.

Eve sighed. “Let me see it,” she commanded.

Marx stopped frantically fussing with his weapon and glared at her.

“Now,” said Eve, not in the mood anymore. “It’s not like you were hitting anything with it anyways.”

His face went icy with rage, but the kid had enough sense about him to hold his tongue.

Eve took the Tommy gun and took out the magazine to check it before clearing the chamber and sliding the magazine home again.

She gave the gun back. “Try it now.”

Sure enough, the next burst came out without a problem. Marx stared at the gun in betrayal.

“Always remember,” said Eve. “Your gun was made by the lowest bidder. Try clearing the round. Always try the bullets first before you start thinking about taking the thing apart. You might not have time to put it back together. If it gets really bad, ditch the stupid thing and pick up the next one you find. If you need a gun, I guarantee you’ll find one someone else won’t need anymore.”

Marx stared at her, but his face was pensive instead of his customary glower.

“Try again.”

Marx settled in and tried again.

After that, Marx and the rest of the replacements who'd scorned her efforts to teach them more effective methods, settled down and started actually listening.

-

Even with the wave of new guys coming in, Easy Company was still only at sixty-five percent strength.

But then Bill came back, AWOL from the hospital and ready to spit fire again.

"Hey, Ev!" he called catching sight of her immediately after walking out of the CP.

"Bill!" she said. "I didn't think you'd be back so quick. What, you get sick of pretty nurses?"

He grinned at her. "I think they were sick of me. They let me sneak out."

"Right," she said, ducking under his arm as he ruffled her hair. "Can't imagine why."

"Don't irrigate me, Buchanan," he said with a smile. "You wanna beer?"

"Sure," she said and let him drag her along to the pub.

"Hey," he said, "You ever heard of a place called Lulu's?"

Eve gave him a look, eyebrows kissing her bangs. "Why on earth would I know anything about a place _you're_ asking about?”

He laughed and led her to the bar. "I'll just ask someone else," he said and bought her a drink.

-

Eve kept busy. She’d given Bill back the reigns of Second Platoon – it had never been a question that she would, but there was still a lot of slack left by Dike to pick up, and it was up to the Non-Coms to do it. She'd never realized just how much Winters did for the company until he was trying to do it for all three companies under his purview. Just keeping her squad of guys in winter clothes was hard enough. They never seemed to have enough socks, let alone enough coats. At least the newbies had a full set of gear. Most of the veterans were still fighting in their summer ODs, something Eve was trying to get supplies to fix ASAP before winter set in.

About a week after the replacements came in, Alley arrived back from the aid station, fully recovered from the grenade in Holland.

“Well, look who made it back!” cried Luz, as ever with his finger on the pulse of the company.

“You made it,” said Liebgott, slinging an arm across the man’s shoulder. “I knew you would.”

Eve smiled, but didn’t approach. She remembered all too well that Alley had gotten hurt on her watch. It didn’t matter, because Alley caught sight of her and beamed. “How you doing, Sarge?” he asked.

Her smile turned into a grin. “Better for the sight of your sorry mug, Alley.”

He laughed and gave her a hug punctuated with a slap on the back.

“Let’s get you some hot chow,” said Liebgott. He dragged Eve and Alley to the mess tent.

The next day, Eve found Roe.

Predictably, he was in the aid station being useful and taking stock of their inventory.

She waited for him to finish, perching on a cot out of the way and pulling out her now ever-present deck of cards to play a quick game of solitaire while she waited.

She wasn’t entirely sure he’d noticed her until he came over and sat by her on the cot and helped her with the game.

Eve smiled at the man. “Everything in order?”

He shrugged. “I heard Alley’s back.”

“Yeah,” she said. “He found me yesterday.”

“Good,” said Roe. “I’m glad he made it.”

“You took good care of him,” she said.

He smiled.

It was good to see him again. They hadn’t seen a lot of each other in combat, but she hoped that now that they were off the line that would change.

She’d missed him.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He shrugged, which was good enough for Eve. She packed up her cards and dragged him from the infirmary.

She was looking forward to catching up with her friend.

-

Buck Compton finally made it back from the hospital. Guarnere convinced Eve to come along to the pub to celebrate.

Eve didn’t often partake in the pub, but now that Guarnere was back, he took great pleasure in dragging her along. She went along with him for the express purpose of enjoying the companionship.

The pub in Mourmelon was small, but used to catering to soldiers. Tonight, Easy Company had claimed one of the longer tables for their celebration.

Buck Compton was down at the end near Lipton and Bill Guarnere, despite being the guest of honor. He seemed quieter now, less somehow than he was before he’d gone. Despite that, Eve was happy to see him.

Joe Toye and Liebgott were next to that group, deeply involved in a discussion about the best comic books. Hoobler was nearest to Luz, and then there was Eve, the linchpin of this particular amalgamation of Toccoa guys, and several other Easy Company members who happened to drift by and linger.

It didn’t take long for the stories to start. And once the stories started, it didn’t take long for Luz and the Toccoa veterans to start ragging on about Sobel, and how much of an ass he'd been, for the benefit of the new replacements who’d been trying to complain about Dike’s ineptitude making him a valid candidate for the worst CO ever.

"You guys," said Luz, waving a hand at Babe in particular, who'd, thanks to Guarnere, become more of a fixture in their group than most replacements, "don't know how fucking lucky you are. He had us walk 12 miles every Friday night in the pitch dark without drinking from a canteen at all."

After several such stories, they came to the time Sobel had singled Eve out, for no reason whatsoever, and demanded that she run Currahee in a full pack.

Eve didn’t know why this incident was special. Sobel had singled out a lot of guys and made them run up Currahee in a full pack. It was actually one of her fonder memories of Camp Toccoa, and she said so.

“Are you shittin’ me?” said Liebgott. “That’s a _fond_ memory?”

Eve shrugged, remembering that Talbert and Shifty had decided to run it with her on their own. “It was the first time I realized I was a part of a team.”

The boys went quiet at that.

It was easy to start remembering Toccoa through rose colored lenses – as one of the highlights of their experience in the army because it was what made them the Easy Company members – not just soldiers. But Eve remembered all too well how tough it was to be on the outside looking in, and she’d never felt more on the outside than when she’d been at Toccoa.

Having had enough of story time, Eve grabbed what was left of Luz's beer out from under his gesticulating hands and drained it.

"HEY!" said Luz. But then he stole her unfinished one from her, which had more left in it than his, despite her nursing on it for hours. She winked at him and got up.

“I’m going to head back to barracks. Goodnight,” she said.

No one got up to follow her, but she could feel them all watching her leave. The woman who’d been ostracized for so long was still just under the surface. Sometimes, Eve still felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop, where she’d become a liability once more over something she couldn’t change.

She'd only been walking two minutes when she heard someone fall into a lumbering step behind her. Feeling safe – she was in Mourmelon, far behind enemy lines and in the company of just other American soldiers; nothing was going to happen here – Eve didn't bother looking to find out who it was until he threw his arms around her and yanked her backwards into his chest.

It was not a friendly grip.

His form was hard with battle readiness conditioning, and she could feel the hot damp stink of his breath as it caressed her ear. A hand groped her breast hard; she grimaced at the pain and gave a shout.

_That really hurt._

Another hand reached towards her belt, fumbling to unclasp the buckles.

It was enough to send her straight into a panic.

She jabbed her elbow backwards into his stomach, right near the kidney, and then stomped on his instep. He struck her in the head, and she blinked, dizzy and swayed.

He got the buckles undone; the belt clinked as it swung loose in her belt loops. She flailed, raking her nails across his arm and biting the hand that was trying to smother her. He bellowed with rage in her ear, deafening her, but held on – jerking her back into his chest once more and fumbling for the buttons on her ODs.

Eve twisted and writhed until she finally got an arm loose. With all her strength and desperation, she rammed her elbow into his nose.

The arms around her went slack.

She jerked free of his hold. To make sure he went down and stayed down, she slammed a fist back into his groin. He fell to the street groaning.

Panting she took a few steps away from the man and tried to gather herself, ready for him to come at her again. It took a few breaths before she was sure he wasn’t going to get up and come at her again. She tried to get a better look at him.

She recognized him.

Dog Company, if she wasn't entirely mistaken.

"Your name, Private?" she asked, still breathing heavily as she looked down at the pathetic figure he made without remorse.

"I fink you broke my nothe!" he said, rolling in pain.

"That you're still alive means that I didn't hit you hard enough, your name, Private?" she demanded.

"Wath ith da you, you sdubid bidth!"

She glared down at him, full with righteous fury. “When a sergeant asks you a question, you answer it.”

"What the hell is going on here?" someone snarled from up the street.

It was Liebgott.

"Christ, Ev,” said Liebgott. “I was lookin' all over for you." He took a closer look at the scene, noticing the groaning man for the first time. "What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing worth mentioning, Joe," Eve said, trying desperately to keep this as quiet as possible. She didn't think she'd done any permanent damage to the guy. He'd just have a couple black-eyes tomorrow to go with the aches and pains she'd given him. But if they – she and Liebgott and the Private – made a scene, Winters might not be able to protect her this time before they decided she was too much of a distraction for the men and she was bounced from the army once and for all. It was her deepest fear, and why she’d failed to drink hardly at all tonight or any other night with the men.

She needed Joe to accept the lie she was already orchestrating out in her head. If she could keep it quiet, keep it between them and the bastard on the ground – who likely wouldn’t want anyone knowing he’d been bested by a girl – then it would all go away and no one would have to know.

But it was too late.

The pub emptied of Easy Company men who'd heard the commotion and come to investigate. The first people out were Sergeant Lipton, who came over, and Luz, who did not. The radioman hurried back into the bar for more help.

"What happened here?" Lip asked, scowling at the man still moaning on the ground. He already had a good guess at what happened from Eve’s defensive posture, Liebgott's rage, and the man still rolling in the street in pain.

"Sarge," she said trying to talk to him first, but the man on the ground – sensing possible allies – pulled himself to his feet before she could get another word in.

"The slud adathed me. You ken see she hidth my nothe!" he said.

Eve closed her eyes, wishing the man had kept his mouth shut. She knew her friends well enough to anticipate the chaos that was coming. Her less than sober friends trying to defend her honor was the last thing she needed right now.

"Excuse me?" said Hoobler, incredulous. He'd come running when Luz said there was a fight going on. The rest of the table hadn't been too far behind; he could feel them at his back as he took in the scene. He'd never seen Ev show even the slightest intentions towards any man, let alone some drunken replacement. Hell, he'd been shocked she'd even come out tonight. It was well known that Ev didn't drink very often. He still remembered that morning in Aldbourne where she'd cheerfully banged around all fucking day and somehow convinced Roe not to give anyone aspirin.

"Sheds been flirding width me all nidht," the drunk continued, "Ledded me on!"

"You wanna run that by me again, pal?" demanded Bill, getting right up in the guy's face. Eve wasn't even sure how he'd moved that fast as she yanked on his arm. Her cheeks were burning with humiliation, but Guarnere could get in serious trouble for clobbering a subordinate.

"I didna do nodthin' da her an’ she broke my nothe!" he said, apparently too drunk to realize his life was in danger. He leered at her again. "She’d been leddin’ all of usth –" the man might've continued but Bill did something to him that had him rolling on the ground again, too busy groaning in pain to continue.

Compton, the ranking officer of the assembled group, stepped forward and put a hand on Bill's arm to draw him back. He did step back, but he made sure he planted himself squarely between Eve and the scumbag in front of him.

Buck hauled the Private to his feet, making sure the man understood the full bulk of his size before quietly dressing him down.

Eve didn't hear the conversation, her pulse thumping in her ear now that the adrenaline rush was over. She shook herself out of it when Buck moved back from where he was threatening the kid who'd grabbed her like she was a whore for the taking. _Oh God_ , she thought, the weight of the situation hitting her right in the stomach, again.

Hands still trembling, she turned away for the only semblance of privacy she had – trusting Bill at her back to keep everyone else away – and rebuckled her belt. She tried to make her hands stop shaking – but it was useless. She took another deep breath and turned back to the scene.

"Understood Private?" Buck growled, his tone more menacing than Eve had ever heard from the usually genial man.

"My midthake, sir," the replacement addressed the Lieutenant with a large amount of fear, and then spat the word "ma'am," at Eve. He hurried off, wary of the gathered crowd, though he was sure to meet up with a few of them for a less civilized conversation later that night if he didn't make it back to his barracks to sleep it off.

Eve knew she was still trembling, but not how bad it was until Toye put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

Lip looked at her in concern. "You okay there, Ev?"

She pulled herself together as the adrenaline slowly bled out of her, taking the shakes with it. "Yes, sir."

"All right," he said, giving her a nod. "We should all get some rest," he addressed the assembly of worried men, hovering around Eve, who was starting to look less and less okay by the second. He'd said it in the friendly way he gave orders, but no one moved to obey.

"Sergeant Buchanan?" said Compton as her friends began to close ranks around her. "Lieutenant Winters will probably need to see you. Lip, you wanna come along?"

Lipton nodded.

Eve swallowed but followed her superior officers, dread of a completely different kind settling over her.

The walk with Lip and Buck was one of the longest in her life.

 _This is it,_ Eve thought. _They’ll have to get rid of me now._

It wasn’t like this was the first time. If it was the first time, she could’ve maybe hoped for it to be swept under the rug, but it wasn’t the first time. If Eve was being honest, it wasn’t even the second.

_Three strikes, you’re out._

After everything she'd put herself through, she was finally going to be bounced from the Army, all because one drunken private couldn't keep his hands to himself.

_Three strikes, you’re out._

She’d received more than one stern warning upon entering the army; any hint that she was a distraction to the men and she’d be sent packing before she could blink.

_Three strikes, you’re out._

She’d somehow managed to keep the incident on the Samaria quiet by some act of grace, but she was certain that the rumor had spread. There were no secrets in the army. There was the incident in Aldbourne to think of too. Sure it hadn’t been about sex – or not to her knowledge at least – but that still meant that this was technically the third time someone had looked at her and picked her for an easy target.

_Three strikes, you’re out._

_Stupid_! she thought. _Reckless_!

She’d allowed herself to let her guard down. She’d forgotten that she wasn’t like the other soldiers – she was a woman. She had to be vigilant, ready to protect herself at all times, and keep herself out of dangerous situations. She should never have gone to the pub; never should have left alone after dark.

Her only chance was that Buck and Lip were taking her to Winters and not Lieutenant Dike.

Dike dealt with Eve by ignoring her completely. She was sure he would jump at the opportunity to send her away. If they took her to Dike, she would be gone before Winters or anybody could do anything. They had to take her to Dike – it was procedure. Lip and Buck would follow the rules and she’d be sent home.

_Three strikes, you’re out._

_If this is it,_ Eve thought. _If this is the end, I’ll have to make my peace with it. I did my best. God, please keep my boys safe without me here to help them._

Before she was ready, Lip held the door open for her.

Winters, Nix, and Welsh looked up when they entered. They were playing cards, but Eve didn't see any bets.

 _Thank God it’s not Dike_. Eve tried not to sag in relief. Her friends had taken her to Winters, Winters’ who’d promised to hear her side. _Thank God_.

"Yes?" said Winters, putting down his hand and straightening back into his role as Captain. "What is it?"

Temporary relief gone, Eve felt pinned in place by his gaze as the weight of what she had to try and say collapsed on her shoulders once more. She shot a quick glance at Buck and Lip, who were obviously trying to put what happened into words without offending her.

Straightening her shoulders from where they'd crept to her ears, Eve took a deep breath to steady herself and squash the panic still thrumming through her. "You said you'd listen to my side, sir," she reminded him. Her voice was steady, but soft. She couldn't meet his eyes. "... should something happen."

Winters seemed to sag in his chair. Welsh and Nixon sat up straighter by contrast, fire in their eyes.

"What happened?" Winters asked.

Much to Eve’s relief, Buck took over, outlining what had prompted them to leave the bar and the scene he and Lipton had encountered in the street. Eve wanted to curl into a corner in shame but forced herself to stand straight.

“Ev?” said Nixon, when Buck had finished.

Eve took a deep breath and highlighted her night. She'd been at the bar for most of it with the others, celebrating being alive. She'd had less than a full glass of beer all night, despite being there for hours which Buck and Lip both confirmed when prompted.

"I was just heading back to barracks, sir. That’s all. I was walking away from the pub when a private grabbed me. I made him let go." Winters eyebrow kicked up, but he made no comment. "And then he made a scene when practically all of Easy came out of the pub a minute later. I swear I was just trying to get his name so I could get him to his appropriate unit medic."

"Did you break any of his bones?" Winters asked.

"I might have broken his nose, but at worst he'll have raccoon eyes for a couple weeks, and he might walk with a limp for a couple hours, other than that, there was no lasting damage, apart from maybe his pride."

Winters scratched his head in thought. "Any chance he'll report it to his CO?" he asked finally, looking at Buck and Lip.

They traded glances. "I doubt it," Lip answered.

"I mean," Nix interrupted. "Who would believe that a girl took on a full grown man, a _paratrooper_ no less. I mean, it sounds absurd." He'd said it in his most arrogant ‘ _I went to Yale_ ’ voice.

Winters's lip twitched. It was a good spin on the story.

"And besides," Welsh added, "it sounds to me like he attacked an officer without provocation."

"This could get messy," said Winters.

Eve's shoulders sagged. "I know sir, I'm sorry," she said. "I swear I wasn't trying to be a distraction."

Winters looked up at her surprised. She looked defeated. He stood and rounded the table between them to put a hand on her arm. "You did nothing wrong," he said. "You have just as much right to defend yourself as any man here. It's just going to be a bit sticky for a while, but you will not be sent out of Easy because of this."

Eve nodded, trusting his word enough that the giant knot of nerves in her chest loosened.

The other officers looked at each other, apparently, that hadn't even occurred to them yet. "You're where you belong Sergeant," Winters said, giving her arm another squeeze.

"Thank you, sir." She met his eyes steadily.

"We're heading out soon. First Sergeant Lipton will walk you back to your billet. I'm sure the men will want to assure themselves of your safety." She offered him a wry, disgruntled look that made him chuckle. "Off you go." She saluted him and left the room with Lip. Buck stayed behind to talk to the others.

"Christ, Dick!" said Nix. "Send her out of Easy? Are they out of their minds?"

"They might drop her out of the Army," he said, running a tired hand over his brow.

"No way," said Welsh. "No way can we afford to lose a good sergeant just because some dumb _kid_ can't keep his hands to himself."

"I agree, Harry," said Dick, "Which is why I never want to hear of this again."

"She's smart enough to avoid it in the future, Dick, don't worry," said Nix.

"Yeah, well, we just need to make sure she's not alone until we jump next. I don't want to hear about any retribution or revenge from this Private or his friends."

"I'll see to it," said Buck with a nod, he turned to leave.

"And Buck?" Winters waited for Buck to turn back. "Make sure he always attacked the officer first, alright?"

"Already under control, sir," he said with a nod and a smile, leaving the room.

"I like that man," said Nix, folding his hand and tossing it into the middle of the table. "So what are you going to say to Strayer?"

"I hope it doesn't come to that," said Winters, "but Sink made his position clear. Ev's not going anywhere."

-

Lip took Eve to her billet by way of Doc Roe. From the look on Gene’s face and the taunt set of his shoulders, he'd been fretting for a while. Eve wondered who'd spilled the beans.

Gene took one look at her, and cursed. "Jesus Christ." He looked between her and Lipton, narrowing his eyes at the First Sergeant like he was the one to blame.

He made her sit down, and ran gentle fingers over her cheek. To her surprise, the touch stung. Apparently the Private's watch had nicked her pretty good, leaving behind a bleeding scratch. She hadn't even noticed, didn’t even really remember him touching her face at all. Now it throbbed.

"It's not deep enough for stitches," said Gene, sitting back to look the rest of Eve over as unobtrusively as possible. "It'll probably hurt to smile for a few days."

Not finding anything more pressing, he cleaned the scratch with a water soaked rag.

"While you're here, Sergeant," he said, "Let me get a look at your arm." She took off her jacket, leaving on her under shirt. Gene rolled the white sleeve up to get a better look at the scar forming. It was still pretty inflamed despite it having happened a good few months ago, but it no longer at all hurt to exert her right arm, for which she was beyond grateful.

"Okay," said Gene, satisfied with the wound's progress. Now that her ODs were off, he ran his fingers over her ribs to check for damage.

Eve bore it patiently, not really remembering now if she’d been struck by the private.

“Nothing I can see here,” Gene finally said. “Show me how you hit the fella? Let's make sure you didn't strain anything." He had her check her range of motion with both wrists and her elbows.

Finally Gene sat back, satisfied. "Bed," he said, pointing a finger to show he was serious. "Make sure she goes right there, Sergeant Lipton," he instructed.

She was more than happy to follow Lip there. The adrenaline crash made her body feel heavy and exhausted.

When they finally made it to her billet, half of Easy Company was waiting for her, even the men not usually in her platoon. Guarnere and Toye commandeered the bunks next to hers, with Liebgott laying down on top of the covers she was under to share with her. No one protested, and no one cared. If the barracks were filled to three times the capacity that night, no one mentioned it.

-

The next morning, Easy followed Eve's lead in pretending nothing had happened. If she always had a shadow or two, it was no more than she'd expected.

She waited all morning on pins and needles, waiting for the hammer to fall and the worst to happen.

By afternoon, her friends had coaxed her out of the mood and managed to be back to their loud, laughing selves by lunchtime.

What Eve didn't know was that Colonel Sink had indeed heard of the matter.

He bounced the replacement out of the 506 and gave Dog Company’s Commander one hell of a dressing down to boot.

“This is the second time I’ve heard of Dog Company harassing Sergeant Buchanan and by God it’s going to stop. You had better get your company in line Captain or mark my words, you’ll be out of this regiment. As far as I’m concerned, Evelyn Buchanan has earned her right to be here twice over, and I will not tolerate sexual harassment in my unit. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Get out of my sight,” said Sink, all but trembling with his suppressed rage. When the door closed behind the quickly retreating Captain, Sink sagged into his chair and rubbed at his building headache.

He stood by what he’d said about Buchanan. She’d earned her place with Easy Company early on and continued to prove that she was just as capable as that original group of elite men.

Steely resolve filled him. He would not allow the prejudice or misbehavior of a few rogues to make a mockery of her hard work. There would be no more problems from within the 506th with men treating her like anything other than a soldier, or he’d know why and have the offender bounced out of his regiment.

The thought of dismissing Evelyn Buchanan never even crossed his mind.

-

Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company found her the next day.

"Sergeant Buchanan?" he said, singling her out with his dark brown stare while she was loitering with Malarkey, Skip, Luz, and Penkala outside the mess hall.

She turned around to meet his gaze head on. He seemed to size her up. She'd heard enough rumors about the man to be wary. Beyond the rumors that Speirs was directly responsible for killing over 20 POWs on D-Day, there was one floating around about him shooting a Sergeant from his company who was drunk on duty, not to mention what Martin said he’d told Blithe on D-Day about already being dead.

"Sir?" she said, straightening into attention unconsciously. Something about Speirs's demeanor demanded it.

His eyes lingered on her still fading bruises. He didn’t speak as he studied her, unnervingly quiet, which combined with his frank stare unsettled her. There was something dangerous about the man.

"I heard about what happened.” He seemed to notice her friends for the first time and paused. She glanced at the others and by some unspoken communication they all suddenly found somewhere else to be. "The replacement that picked that fight with you."

"Sir?" she said, surprised that he was addressing this at all. Dog was just as depleted of Toccoa men as Easy was, and it was apparently hard for replacements to comprehend the fact that she was just another soldier and that she hadn't used any feminine wiles to earn her staff sergeant's chevrons, that she had participated in every single battle that was pinned onto her dress uniform. Eve understood why, but it still pissed her off when she thought about it too often.

"I have the whole squad on latrine duty for the next month," he confided with a dark look that implied that was not all he’d done. "You’ve had problems with Dog Company replacements before. My CO is addressing the issue company wide, but Johnson was from my platoon. As such, the whole platoon is going on a twenty mile hike at 0400.” The dark look returned.

 _Is that guilt?_ wondered Eve. _Or just anger_?

“It won’t happen again,” Speirs continued. “If anyone from my company is less than a gentleman to you, inform me immediately. I’ll take care of it."

"I’ll do that, sir,” she said so he’d go away. It was humiliating enough to complain to Winters – she might not have told anyone at all if they hadn’t witnessed it themselves. She couldn’t imagine going to her Lieutenant Dike, let alone Speirs.

"Good." He gave her a short nod and then wandered off.

"Holy shit, Ev! If you ever wanted to kill off anyone in Dog, now's your chance!" said Skip, hurriedly reappearing from where he’d been eavesdropping.

She pushed him and smiled. 

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank yous to every one who's read this story or left Kudos or Bookmarked. I appreciate each and every one of you. At the risk of repeating myself - it means the world to me, so thank you all.
> 
> Also, just as a heads up, my real life schedule is changing as of next week, so expect a later update next Thursday.


	24. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve ran into a bit of trouble in Mourmelon
> 
> "No one has ever become poor by giving." - Anne Frank
> 
> Now: Eve takes a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Atman, Laura001, and AngelicSentinel were all instrumental in getting this chapter together. Biggest thanks to Aniset for getting me over the hump on this one. And extra love to Helianza, who rescued my dismal French!

-Chapter 24-

The weather turned and winter began in earnest. Apparently, winter in France meant rain, and lots of it. It wasn’t the warm rain she’d gotten used to in Georgia, or even the sproadic downpours she’d endured in Holland. The rain clouds moved in and then just squatted above Mourmelon and let them have it for days.

After one day of tedious training in the rain too many, Eve decided enough was enough and put in for a forty-eight hour pass to Paris. That it got her away from the new, strange looks the boys were sending her way – as though she was somehow delicate or fragile – was simply a coincidental bonus.

It wasn’t cost prohibitive either. Eve had more money than she knew what to do with now that she was a Staff Sergeant. Most of the men sent their earnings back to their families, but Eve’s family didn’t have any need for her money. She’d set quite a bit of it aside already, but she suddenly had several months pay, plus her (rather sizeable) winnings from poker to spend, and Paris was just the place to do it. She had a couple things she wanted to buy, most involving the acquisition of warmer clothing.

If the army was going to issue new summer gear at the beginning of winter – it was unlikely winter gear was coming at all. There was nothing she could do about her boots – they’d lost their waterproofing long ago and now let water at her feet like a sieve – but new socks wouldn’t go amiss. Besides, Paratrooper boots were special.

She certainly had enough money to just wander around for a good while and pay for a hotel.

Besides, her mother had asked her to look in on her uncle in Paris – a distant branch of the family, but family nonetheless. Eve didn’t remember much of her uncle – the man hadn’t been stateside in over a decade – and she didn’t know if he’d even recognize her when she turned up, but she hoped so.

He was an art dealer of some renown in Paris, apparently. When she was about five years old, he and his family had come for Christmas. Eve only vaguely recalled the scent of cigars and a bushy smile under kind blue eyes when she thought of the man, his wife was an even vaguer recollection, but their daughter, Vivienne and she had been friends. Vivienne, in fact, was the source of Eve’s paltry skill in the French language. They’d been pen-pals in their youth – something they’d out grown recently. Eve wasn’t even sure Vivienne still lived at home, but the hope of seeing her friend made her feel better about her decision to visit the famed ‘City of Lights.’

At least if she got into trouble in the city, she had family close by she could reach out to for help.

It was a few days before they finally issued her the pass. By that time, everyone heading to Paris was either there or already back. She’d be going on her own.

Eve was partially grateful for the respite. She’d been stuck with the boys for months on end. It would be nice to have some time to herself.

Besides, she’d traveled on her own before, perhaps not in a foreign county, but at least she had a rudimentary understanding of the language.

She would be fine.

-

It wasn’t until Eve actually got on the train that she realized that this would also be the first time she traveled by herself dressed as a soldier, without the guys in Easy to watch her back.

By then, it was too late to do anything but put her head down and pretend to be invisible, just another bored soldier in dress greens.

She bought her ticket with no problems. The teller spoke enough English, or had seen too many soldiers going the same way, that she had no issues purchasing her ticket.

She picked a seat between an old woman and a little boy, still young enough to be attached to his mama’s hip. Eve smiled at the youngster, who looked somewhere between delighted and dumbfounded to be sitting next to a soldier. The boy tugged at his mama’s sleeve and rattled off in incomprehensible French at the poor woman. The lady smiled at her son indulgently, and gave Eve a respectful nod before pulling the boy closer.

The old woman observed this from Eve’s other side and smiled. “You are American?” she asked, tongue tentative around the English words and rolling her r’s.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Eve, nodding, relieved that the woman was speaking to her in English.

“A woman?” the old woman said, sounding shocked. “I did not think the Americans allowed their women to fight. I know the papers said there was a woman fighter with the invasion but I did not think…” the woman trailed off, studying Eve with a new intensity.

Eve smiled awkwardly, but was unsure how to answer without implying something untrue.

The little boy’s eyes went wide. He started tugging at his mama’s coat sleeve, pointing at Eve and babbling with increasing fervor. Eve could guess the gist of their conversation. His mama was staring at her with poorly disguised awe, but Eve – uncomfortable with the attention – ignored the woman’s idolizing stare in favor of smiling at the little one and holding out her hand.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” she said. He giggled, probably at her atrocious accent – it had been a long time since she’d spoken French to anyone but Grandmamma as a child herself – and proceeded to try introducing herself. “ _Je m’appelle Eve. Quel est votre nom_?”

He giggled and turned to his mama, suddenly shy and babbled something, probably inappropriate since the woman’s cheeks flushed and scolded him.

“ _Je m’appelle_ Louis,” he said shyly, and turned away to start tugging on his poor mama again. She smiled at Eve and gave the little boy’s rapidly flying French her full, indulgent attention. “ _Êtes-vous le soldat féminin? Jeanne d’Arc_?”

Eve looked at the boy, and then at the hopeful mama, and still lost, turned to the old woman.

“He wants to know if you’re the soldier woman. The one the papers call _Jeanne d’Arc_.”

Eve stared at the older woman. “They call me what?”

The woman laughed at the look on Eve’s face. “ _Jeanne d’Arc_ reborn!” the woman said as though Eve should already know. “The woman who has come with the Allies to liberate France from tyranny once more, patron saint of soldiers and Paris herself. You are her, _non_?”

“I– ” said Eve, cutting herself off before she could blurt something unwise and instead taking a second to compose her thoughts. “You’re sure they meant me?”

“I thought you looked familiar when you sat down, but I could not place you. Your picture was under the headline. All of France must know your face by now.”

Eve could feel her face heat up in a blush. She had no idea the papers in France had even heard of her, let alone given her a nickname, or for that matter, printed the story of her often enough that perfect strangers recognized her. She idly wondered where the French press had gotten her picture in the first place.

“There are many women fighting for France,” the older woman continued, interrupting Eve’s thoughts. “My daughter, she didn’t listen when I told her not to go. She died.”

Eve was nonplussed by this sudden turn. “My deepest condolences for your loss,” she said.

“She was kind, like you. You will look after yourself, oui? The men, they will not do it for you.” The woman reached out and traced the scratch on Eve’s cheek boldly with the back of her hand. “But women, we stick together.”

Eve nodded.

“You are going to Reims?” the woman asked.

“Paris,” corrected Eve.

“Ah.”

“I’ve never been before,” Eve admitted.

“Paris is beautiful. Even the Nazis could not bear to touch her beauty, though they tried to steal her soul.”

Eve didn’t know what to say to this either.

“ _Excusez-moi_ ,” said the little boy – Louis, Eve remembered – interrupting without repentance. As soon as Eve was looking at him, he let loose a rapid babble of French. Eve quickly lost track of the words – her French was rusty at best and the animated boy’s words muddied together in a string of foreign sounds she had no hope of detangling.

“Uh,” she said, glancing at his mama, who was unhelpfully smiling in encouragement but otherwise offering no explanation. Helpless, Eve sought refuge in the older lady.

“He’s invited you to his home for dinner.”

Eve blinked, nonplussed, but turned to the mama. “Uh, _merci_ ,” she said, intending to demure when the mother – sensing her hesitation, let out a slower string of French, slow enough that Eve caught the gist of what she was saying even before the older woman translated for her again.

“They wish to thank you, the _Jeanne d’Arc_ who has freed us from the Nazis.”

Eve looked down at the little boy, who looked pleased as punch as he stared between Eve and his mama.

“I shouldn’t,” she said to the older woman. “I mean, I’m not–”

“She says it’s no trouble, and you are in need of a good meal, _non_?”

Eve wasn’t sure she had said any such thing, but facing pressure on all sides – the boy’s eyes were bigger than silver dollars and sadder than Eve’s spaniel Mipsy at dinner time – Eve gave in and accepted the invitation with a nod.

The boy cheered and clapped his hands. His mama smiled at Eve gratefully.

“She says her husband speaks English. He will be waiting for them at the station,” said the older woman, still translating as the rapid French sailed over Eve’s head once more. “This will be good for you. You need some meat on your bones.”

Eve blushed, but didn’t deny the truth of it. She felt even smaller in her too large, masculine dress greens. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just issued her the nurse’s dress greens, this set settled oddly over her frame, and the late fall had begun sneaking into the cracks between her clothes and her skin.

She had her old pair of ODs packed away with the new ones she’d been issued in the bag above her, and while at least the old pair fit, they were in a desperate need of a thorough washing – more than she could accomplish at Mourmelon – and were thread-bear after being worn nonstop for just under eighty days.

Her new ODs had the same problem her dress greens did – two sizes too big – and they were an even lighter cotton weave too boot.

" _Mesdames et Messieurs, nous entrons actuellement en gare de Reims. La sortie du train s'effectuera sur le quai à votre gauche. Merci_."

“This is my stop,” said the older woman, standing. She grabbed her bag and smiled at Eve. “I am glad to meet you, _Jeanne d’Arc. Au revoir_!”

Eve smiled at the woman, forcing back a wince. She could already tell that she was going to hate that nickname by the time she left Paris.

When the older woman was gone, the carriage door closed behind her with finality, Eve took a deep breath and turned back to the duo still accompanying her. The woman smiled at her, shy, while her son beamed without reservation. The lady had a softness about her, with fine brown hair and lovely green eyes her son had inherited. “ _Je m’appelle Madeleine_.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Eve, holding out her hand for Madeleine to shake awkwardly – making Eve feel even more like an outsider as she miss-stepped again. “ _Je m’appelle_ , Eve,” she reintroduced herself.

“ _Enchantée_ ,” said Madeleine gently smiling.

Eve blushed and repeated the sentiment in French this time.

-

“ _Papa_!” cried Louis as he ran full tilt into his father’s arms.

Eve found herself sharing an indulgent smile with Madeleine as she watched the man lift his son and spin around in a joyous reunion.

After a good two hours pantomiming her way through stilted conversation with the woman, they’d developed what Eve considered a unique kinship. She watched the boy babble excitedly with his papa, who was watching Madeleine with adoring brown eyes. The man was handsome in a rugged way, with a bit of growth on his face and brown hair that was longer than strictly fashionable. His lovely wife stepped forward into his embrace with a beaming smile of her own, the family complete once more.

Even from a distance, Eve could see in the way the man held his family that he adored Madeleine and doted on his son.

Eve tucked the spark of jealousy she felt at the picture-perfect family firmly away and let her heart be warmed by the sight. She knew nowadays it was far more often that families were torn apart than brought back together.

The family exchanged some pleasantries, presumably asking about tidings from the journey and each other’s mutual health, before Madeleine said something to her husband and suddenly the family’s attention had returned to Eve.

She shuffled, trying not to feel like an interloper, even as Madeleine smiled at her encouragingly and waved her over.

The man’s now calculating eyes took in her uniform, and then turned to listen to his son babble excitedly and wave frantically at Eve.

“Hello,” said the man in accented English, much to Eve’s relief as she joined them. “My son says you are _Jeanne d’Arc_ from the papers. Is it true that you are the fighting woman from America?”

Eve coughed, uncomfortable. “I’ve been reliably informed that’s what they call me. I’m Sergeant Evelyn Buchanan.”

“I am Pierre,” he introduced himself and held out his hand for Eve to shake. “ _Enchanté, mademoiselle_.”

“ _Enchantée_ ,” said Eve, remembering. “Forgive me, I speak very little French.”

“ _Ne vous inquiètez pas_ ,” he said, a mischievous smile on his lips. “I speak English very well, _non_?”

Eve laughed. “You do, sir.”

He smiled at her and she realized afresh how charming he was.

“You have a lovely family,” she said smiling at Madeleine and Louis. “They have been very kind to me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, beaming at his son. Eve could see their resemblance in the shared dimples. “I hear we have invited you to dinner?”

Eve blushed. “Yes, but really there is no need –“

“Nonsense,” cried Pierre. “I must insist. Come, come, this way.”

-

Dinner was superb. Madeleine made a casserole of vegetables in tomato sauce, which she called _ratatouille_ and served it with a loaf of bread. The thick soup consistency, the roasted top, and the beautiful vibrancy of each of the individual vegetables as they exploded on Eve’s tongue, made her think of warmth and home. She melted as soon as the divine flavor burst onto her tongue and set about devouring her share. There was no meat to supplement the dish – Eve hadn’t really expected any – but Madeleine brought out a small loaf of bread that she cut four careful slices from. The bread was just enough to sop up the leavings too small for her spoon to catch anymore.

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the first, teasing taste of the tomato sauce danced on her tongue. Eve tried to eat the meal with decorum, but failed as she fell upon it without remorse or regret – like a starving animal, desperate to eat quickly before she was called away or the Krauts started shelling their line again.

She set down her spoon with a grateful, satisfied sigh and leaned back in her chair, sipping the deep red glass of wine Pierre had pulled from hiding.

“That was excellent, Madeleine, truly,” she gushed.

“ _Oui, ma femme, un vrai chef-d'œuvre_ ,” said Pierre.

“ _Oui, maman, c'est délicieux_!” piped in Louis – not wanting to be left out.

Madeleine smiled and began clearing the plates.

“ _Louis_ ,” said Pierre, “ _va donc aider ta maman_.”

“ _Mais papa_ ,” whined Louis.

“ _Louis_ ,” said Pierre in that voice father’s use when they’re not to be disobeyed.

“ _Oui, papa_ ,” the boy said as he sulked off to the kitchen. Eve watched him brighten as his mama patted his head and gave him a plate to wash.

She leaned back in her chair and let herself observe the room a bit closer in the silence.

They’d climbed up five flights of sloping, worn slick stairs, twisting through the bowels of the buildings that Eve would never have assumed possible looking from the outside. Such was the nature of Parisian architecture, Eve had been assured.

The building itself was old, and the apartments aged hardwood, darkened by wear and a deep stain showed the age. Eve guessed they were at least a hundred years old.

The layout of the apartment was small, with a small dining room table practically inside the living room, with a curtain separating the kitchen proper. The dark wood of the floors carried to the wood trim and the door leading, presumably, to the bedrooms.

The furniture she could see looked comfortable, the walls were white, but what really struck Eve was the light. They were on the top floor, at least five stories up, and the ceiling slopped as it came to the sides of the room, with windows cut into recesses in the walls.

The amber light of the setting sun streamed in through them, casting the room in an almost misty glow. In a home so warm, and with light so beautiful, Eve could almost forget that war had touched this place at all. Almost.

Eve felt warm and content for the first time since they’d dropped into Holland. It was hard to believe they’d only been pulled off the line a few days ago – a little more than a week by Eve’s count – but she was still so tired.

She felt shaken, wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Deep in her bones, where the comfort of the apartment she was in couldn’t touch, Eve was scared.

Louis giggled. The high pitched sound – so at odds with her darkening thoughts – pulled her back to the present. She could hear Madeleine’s deeper laugh echoing her son’s, easily picturing a loving scene playing out beyond her sight in the small kitchen.

Eve felt a sudden, sharp longing for her own mother. They hadn’t always been at odds. Somehow, even just thinking of Louis staring adoringly up at his mama as though she’d just hung the moon made Eve miss her own very much, regardless of the fact that they were still on such bad terms.

She would give just about anything to have her mother here to give her a hug right now. She could almost smell her mama’s favorite perfume.

Pierre, whom she’d completely forgotten was still in the room, seemed to sense her melancholy. “You and your comrades landed in Normandy, yes?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him.

Eve started, but then nodded, “Yes. I dropped in somewhere near Sainte-Mère-Église, I think. We were so scattered, I don’t really know exactly.”

“Ah yes! You are part of the _parachutistes_?”

Eve nodded.

“I remember the papers saying something of the sort. It was frightening, no? Leaping into the night.”

“I suppose so. Really all I remember was how much I wanted to be out of the plane,” she paused, but Pierre just leaned in and gestured for her to continue. Eve had never really talked about her jump in detail. Anybody she would have talked to about it had done it with her, so it would have been redundant. “The Germans were taking pot shots at us. I don’t know what our pilot was doing while we were all training, but I doubt it was flying much. We couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred feet up when we got the green light.” She thought about qualifying, but Pierre was nodding as though he already knew what she meant, so she didn’t bother.

He didn’t ask for further elaboration, instead choosing to sip the glass of wine he was still nursing from dinner.

The last of sun’s light turned the sky a deep purple. The flickering bulbs of Paris shone through the windows to cast waltzing shadows on the wall. The city of lights had switched on.

Pierre grinned, the spitting image of his son, and finished his wine with a single gulp. Setting down the glass with a satisfied sigh, he stood, and stretched.

“Now, Sergeant, is it?” Pierre began, continuing when she nodded, “You have humored us in letting us feed you, now you must let us water you with the finest wine Paris still has to offer.”

Eve stood as well, even as she shook her head.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. This is all been too much –”

“Ah, but you must,” he insisted. “There are people you must meet, friends who would never forgive me if I kept you all to myself. _Ma chérie_ ,” he said as Madeleine came back. She let her husband draw her into his arms. “ _Nous partons pour L'épine de La Rose_.”

“ _D'accord, amuse-toi bien_ ,” she answered, smiling at her husband softly.

Pierre beamed and gave his wife a smacking kiss that made her giggle.

Madeleine grabbed her coat and handbag from the peg by the door, and coaxed Louis into his own little coat.

“We’re off!” cried Pierre with a wild gesture, and he herded Eve out the door.

Pierre held the apartment door open and ushered Eve out into the long hallway after his family, before thundering rapidly down the stairs and holding open the heavy door to the streets of Paris for the ladies and his small son.

Eve flinched as the sharp acid of urine and vomit assaulted her nose. It hadn’t been nearly so bad earlier in the day – there must have been a party sometime during the evening – but Eve just pushed the unpleasantness to the back of her mind the same way she’d learned to ignore the rancid stench of death and followed along.

“Where are we going?” she asked to help keep her mind off the stench.

“We are going to the _L'épine de La Rose_. Best drinks and company in all of Paris,” said Pierre, leading the small group down the dark, damp street and lighting a cigarette. “When the Nazis were still in the city, we would meet there to discuss all manner of things. We planned the destruction of many railroad cars and German equipment within her walls. We even used the cellar as safe house. The owners had it dug in secret, so it was not on any blueprints for the Nazis to find.”

“You were part of the resistance?” Eve asked, thinking of her grandmamma.

“Yes, yes. From the day France surrendered, until the day the city was liberated, and the country with it. You must understand, living under the Nazis – where death and torture await innocents, and people are starving in the street while the Nazis take everything we have and more besides without asking if we can afford to give – the yoke of tyranny. For myself, for my friends, it was too much to bear.”

“I understand,” Eve said. Pierre looked at her, the question on his handsome face apparent, “My _grand-mère_ worked in _la résistance_ –“ Eve tried to pronounce it the way her grandmamma had always done, “ – during the Great War.”

“Ah. Truly a French fighting spirit. I knew I sensed it in you.”

Eve felt her face flush. She looked down, ignoring Pierre’s quiet chuckling as the man took another drag.

The night was brisk and damp, and Eve let the shivers come, annoyed that she hadn’t thought to grab her coat before she’d left. She’d learned in Holland that fighting the shakes only made them worse. Pierre seemed content to stroll on in silence and enjoy the evening air and his cigarette, so Eve let him do. She focused on the atmosphere that made Paris so famous, an atmosphere that even the Nazis couldn’t ruin.

“So, how did you become a soldier? The Americans did not like it, _oui_?”

Eve laughed. “When I first told my father I wanted to join the Army, he told me no.” The words tumbling out of her mouth in the wake of Pierre’s earlier compliment. There was something freeing about being able to talk to someone about it, someone who couldn’t do anything with the information to hurt her because despite a lovely dinner and taking her into his home, Pierre was practically a stranger. “I told him that I would stow away on a ship and join the fight here in France if he wouldn’t support me. He still held out for months. Admittedly, it was a pretty harebrained scheme that would never have worked, but at least he knew I was serious.”

Pierre laughed. “You are very quiet, _mademoiselle_ , but there is iron in your soul. I am unsurprised that you have been so successful.”

Eve blinked, touched. Everyone she had ever met had been surprised that she’d succeeded in the Army. No one had ever accepted that she must have done so on her strength of character alone. It was more refreshing than she could say.

The conversation lapsed. Pierre and Madeleine swung Louis from their hands every few feet, eliciting giggles from their son.

Eve tried to focus on the route, but realized as she looked around that she had no idea how to get back the way they’d come. There were just too many twists and turns in this ancient city, that her usually astute sense of direction was completely muddled. If pressed, she might be able to make it back on her own, but it would certainly take a while.

She resolved to stick closer to the family so that wouldn’t be necessary.

Pierre took them through the twisting streets, rounding several corners, though back allies and across thoroughfares until he stopped in front of a rundown building not so different from any other rundown building. There was a bustling crowd both inside and out, already reveling despite it being so early in the evening. It marked only with a swinging sign of a faded rose.

It was undoubtedly a pub.

Pierre beamed at her. “This is it.”

Eve shivered. The last time she’d been in a pub had not gone well. “It looks…” Eve struggled to find a way to politely word the lie. “Charming.”

Pierre laughed. “What is it you Americans say? Something about book covers?”

“Point taken,” Eve laughed, trying to shake off her unease. Madeleine and Louis were here. It was unlikely Pierre would lead her anywhere dangerous with his family in tow.

 _I’ll just have to stay on my guard_ , she thought and braced herself.

“Shall we?” said Pierre as he slipped through the crowd and opened the door for her, once more ushering her into the bright light of the pub.

The family was greeted by a hearty round of cheers and raised glasses as Pierre kept the door open for them.

Eve slipped around the man and into the warmth. Her breath was short and relieved as she breathed in the warm atmosphere.

This was already nothing like the pub back in Mourmelon. The overwhelming shadow of fear was absent, replaced with gaiety and laughter; these people had nothing left to fear.

It was as different as drowning and breathing.

Pierre let the door close behind her and raised his hand in salutation to his compatriots, and another towards Eve. He bellowed something in French over the dull roar of the room. Eve caught her name, _Jeanne d’Arc_ , and something about friends and welcoming, but missed the rest.

A fresh cheer went up in the room, every man and woman adding their voice to the cry, including Madeleine and little Louis.

Eve, knowing somehow that they were cheering for her, ducked her head in embarrassment, sure that her face was glowing beet red.

Pierre, who’d turned to see the full extent of her reaction, laughed at her, loud and unashamed before herding her over to the bar in apology, where he gestured for a round.

Madeleine followed long enough to give her husband a kiss and then departed with Louis, presumably to see her own friends.

Eve was a little shocked that the boy was allowed inside the pub – she’d grown up after Prohibition after all – but no one else seemed bothered by the child’s presence, so she decided not to mention it. Perhaps it was something unique to the French? or unique to Louis?

Pierre was certainly well known here. As a fine example, the barmaid, a pretty woman probably well into her thirties, whose hair had long since given up holding onto whatever style it had started as, came over to Pierre with two pints already in hand.

“Camille, my dove, it has been too long,” Pierre said in English, presumably for Eve’s benefit.

The barmaid laughed and leaned across the bar to kiss both of Pierre’s cheeks, careful not to spill the drinks.

“Pierre, I thought you had forgotten me,” said Camille, also in English much to Eve’s relief.

He winked at her. “Never.”

She laughed again, light and easy, before sweeping off to tend to another patron. Pierre picked up the pints, handing one to Eve and toasting her with the other. Though she didn’t typically enjoy the taste of beer, Eve decided to humor the man and took a sip. To her surprise, the taste was light and slightly sweet, not unpleasant at all. She set it down and away, lest she be tempted to have more than she should.

“Pierre!” cried a voice, distinctly female, from across the room.

Eve turned with Pierre to greet the approaching woman. She was beautiful, about Eve’s height, but had far better curves than Eve could ever dream of, with sharp cat eyes and a bright red lipstick to ensure she stood out in the crowd, which parted before her like she was Moses crossing the Red Sea. The woman was dressed to make a conquest.

“Brigitte!” said Pierre, obviously delighted to see her.

Eve tried not to stare, envious of the woman’s obvious self-confidence as she and Pierre embraced and began exchanging rapid information in French. She caught a couple words from Brigitte about Pierre’s family, and something in his reply that implied they were well before the conversation sailed over her head once more.

Eve decided she was going to learn French properly if it killed her. Being isolated in a sea of people all undoubtedly discussing her behind her back was infuriating.

Eve could tell the conversation had turned back on her as the two – admittedly gorgeous – people turned back to her.

“ _C’est elle_?” said Brigitte, speaking to Pierre but with her eyes fixed on Eve. She didn’t wait for Pierre to answer before she said, “You are _Mademoiselle_ Buchanan?” in heavily accented English.

Eve nodded and the woman beamed, her teeth white and shark like against the vivid red of her lipstick. She held out a manicured hand for Eve to shake in the American style.

“ _Enchantée_ ,” she said, smile softening as she released Eve’s hand.

“ _Enchantée_ ,” Eve repeated, trying not to be intimidated.

“You are smaller than I thought you would be, what with all the heavy lifting you soldiers do. Still, I am sure you are just the right size to put a bullet in a German’s skull,” Brigitte said as she accepted the glass of red wine Camille handed her.

“Brigitte,” Pierre said, admonishing. “She is here on her reprieve. No need to bring up such unpleasentness.”

“Pssh,” said Brigitte. “There is nothing more pleasant than knowing you have killed a Kraut. But still, now that I have met the famous _Jeanne d’Arc,_ I will leave you to your drinks. Enjoy your reprieve, _Mademoiselle_ Buchanan.” Brigitte gave Eve another smile and left them, sauntering away to join a rowdy looking group of men, who welcomed her with a cheer.

Eve stared after the woman, baffled, and glanced at her companion, hoping for insight. Pierre shook his head.

“Brigitte recruited me,” Pierre explained. “Her husband was _juif_ – how you say: Jewish.” He pronounced the word awkwardly before waving a hand as though dismissing the word. “One night, the Germans announced for all _juif_ to be placed under arrest. They came for him in the middle of the night, but he wouldn’t go. A true Frenchman through and through. They shot him in her parlor, right in front of her. Ever since, she has been a driving force in our struggles against them. Her bed has been the coffin of more Germans than half the men in this room have managed to claim.”

He paused to glance at Eve, easily reading her shock. “You are surprised, that Brigitte would use her beauty to such an effect?”

Eve nodded, numb, and stared at the woman now leaning on a mustached man in the corner, head back and laughing. It was hard to imagining such a beautiful, lively woman killing anyone – let alone with the ruthless calculation Pierre was describing.

Eve wondered if people thought the same thing when they looked at her.

“When the Germans came,” said a new voice from behind her, startling Eve. When she turned to look, her breath caught. The young man behind her was striking. A powerful face, adorned with bright, fervent eyes, and crowned with golden curls. He was wearing a ruby-red jacket that flattered him, somehow making him look both lean and strong all at once. The gas lights hitting his hair made him glow in the dull room. “They came quickly,” the man continued passionately. “ _Blitzkrieg_. Lightning war, they called it, and they struck like lightning through the heart of us, burning and scorching, leaving blackened scars in their wake, marring the beauty of France. No one was spared. In the face of such destruction, we use every weapon available to us, in the hopes of stalling long enough for the lightning to strike and then fade back into the night.”

Pierre put down his drink and stood. “Sergeant,” he said. “May I introduce Julien Ange, our fearless leader? Julian, this is Evelyn Buchanan – the _Jeanne d’Arc_.”

Eve took the man’s hand. His grip was firm and he held fast as he looked her in the eye. _Angel indeed_ , she thought. _Fitting name_.

“We are glad you are here,” he said, obviously used to speaking for the group. “Let me be the first to thank you, all of you Americans, for what you have done for France.”

Eve nodded, throat feeling tight. There was something about this man. She could see why he was in charge – he’d inspired her loyalty after less than a minute in his presence. He was the kind of man who inspired the same loyalty and respect that Winters did, and instilled the same confidence she often felt from her commander with the same glance.

He was a soldier, like her, and she had nothing to duck and blush about – ridiculous nickname aside.

“Pierre,” Julien said. “Beer, really? We are to show our appreciation. Camille!” he called over the crowd that had quieted some for his speech. Despite it being in – rather flawless – English, he’d easily captured the attention of the entire room without even noticing it.

Eve wondered if this man had any political aspirations. She could easily imagine him holding court over one of her family’s political _soireés_.

“A bottle of the Bordeux for our American friend,” Julien said and looked back into Eve’s eyes before scanning the crowd. “We shall share it!”

The crowd gave a boisterous cheer and slowly the atmosphere dispersed back to the celebration of before.

“Come,” said Julien. “You must meet the others.”

Still holding her hand, which they both seemed to have forgotten about, Julien led Eve and Pierre to a table in the corner already full of people who greeted their leader and his companions with welcoming smiles.

“This is Jacques, Remy, Henri, Maurice, and Elouise.” Everybody raised his or her glass as Julien said their name. It was an odd mix of people, Maurice looked old enough to be her grandfather, while Remy couldn’t have been out of his teens, but they all looked happy to see her. “My friends, this is the woman the papers have been calling _Jeanne d’Arc_ reborn, Evelyn Buchanan.”

Eve accepted the welcoming chorus, which included some handshakes, some slaps on the back, and plenty of smiles, as she slid into a chair that somehow materialized, as if from thin air.

“So tell us,” Julien said once everyone had settled again. “What are your compatriots like? We have all read of your exploits in the paper, but surely your friends are equally extraordinary?”

If there was one thing Eve could talk about forever, it was her fellows in Easy Company. After living in each other’s back pockets for more than two years, she had a stockpile of stories to share and a fresh audience was something to be savored.

Camille brought over a bottle and Julien poured both Eve and Pierre a glass while she regaled them with Easy Company tales. She told of the farmers field full of cows back in Aldbourne, recited Smokey’s “Night of the Bayonet,” and laughed with them about all of her best memories. The wine was beautiful and deep with fruity highs and a bit of spice that almost tasted like chocolate raspberries. She tried to keep herself from drinking, but the atmosphere was so easy, the conversation so scintillating, the wine so delicious, Eve quickly lost track of how much of the lovely drink she’d had.

After a few glasses, Eve somehow started talking about Bull and their time behind enemy lines. The table grew quiet and somber as she told them of stabbing the Kraut soldier in the back, her eyes distant as she relived every moment of that long night, the liberal alcohol she’d imbibed clearing away the fog that kept such horrors from the forefront of her mind.

When, voice shaking, she reached the end of her tale, where she relayed how sick she’d felt as her trench knife slid home into the Kraut’s back, Julien laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort. “You killed him because he tried to kill you. And you defended your friend and our country.”

“And may you kill many more,” Elouise said, her high voice lilting in the dark. The men raised their glasses in response, saluting the truth in her words.

Eve raised her own glass in response – not sure if she really wanted to wish for such a thing, but knowing it was the polite thing to do.

“May we kill the other poor bastard before he kills us first,” said Julien, with a knowing look – quoting General Patton.

“Amen,” said Eve, thinking that that sentiment at least, was something she could drink to.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: News in Paris was very corrupt during the German occupation, and heavily censored. Le Monde, the first reputable newspaper to be published after the liberation of France, was first published on December 19, 1944, just after the Battle of the Bulge began on the 16th. There were definitely underground news sources, distributed via pamphlets and the like (who’s publishers would be shot if discovered), that delivered news of the Allies, but these were filled with rumors and supposition – not actual facts. 
> 
> On another note, most of the French citizens were starving by the time the Allies liberated Paris. There were massive food shortages, especially in the cities where people couldn’t grow their own food (which was illegal under German law, by the way). The Germans demanded food from France not only for their occupying force, but the German people as well.
> 
> Thank you everyone for keeping up with this story. I appreciate each and every one of you. I know this is a diversion from canon, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. See you next Thursday!


	25. Amis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve meets a family who takes her in.
> 
> "A walk about Paris will provide lessons in history, beauty, and in the point of Life." -Thomas Jefferson
> 
> Now: Pierre shows Eve Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous Betas this week: Atman, AngelicSentinel, FandomlyCroft, and Laura001. Also a big shout out and thank you to Aniset. I couldn't have gotten through this one without you. Huge shout out to Helianza, who took care of editing all of my terrible "GoogleFrench". All my love to you all.

-Chapter 25-

Eve blinked awake, surprised she wasn’t nearly as hung over as she should have been after drinking so much wine last night, as the early morning sun streaked through the expansive windows she’d noticed the night before – and unerringly found her eyes.

Pierre had forced several glasses of water into her before they’d even left la Rose, giving her a glass in between each glass of wine, and then another very large glass of water just before pouring her into a makeshift sofa bed that Madeleine must have made up for her while Pierre was watering her.

The familiar scent of brewed coffee tickled her into full wakefulness. Eve stretched with a groan, feeling sore despite the couch being far more comfortable than many of her previous sleeping accommodations in the last year, and ignored the masculine chuckles floating her way from the table. She didn’t want to know how he’d snuck passed her – didn’t want to admit that she’d been too exhausted to properly react to the potential threat he posed – particularly while she was sleeping.

She levered herself up from the sofa, wincing as her spine realigned itself with many sharp cracks. She shot a glare at the still laughing Pierre, her dignity opposed to being laughed at so early in the morning.

He had coffee though, and he’d been kind enough to leave a steaming cup for her on the small table next the couch by her head – the obvious source of her wakefulness – and therefore she decided to graciously forgive him for his humor at her expense.

She snagged the mug of coffee and staggered over to join Pierre at the table, meeting his laughing eyes with a grin of her own as she plopped down into the seat opposite him.

The click of the lock and the thud of the door announced Madeleine and Louis’s return home. The patter of little feet heralded the little boy as he darted into the room, making a beeline for his papa. Pierre caught his son’s exuberant hug and, with a soft-spoken word, sent the boy off to his room with a playful smack on his behind. Louis’s giggles filled the room with brightness that had been absent in the morning light.

Madeleine followed her son, still shedding her coat and headscarf, her short heels clacking on the hardwood floor. She called a soft reminder to her son as she sashayed over to greet her husband, the basket on her arm smelling heavenly of fresh bread – and indicating where they’d gone so early in the morning. The young mother looked radiant, as per usual in Eve’s estimation, and greeted Eve with a lilting, “ _Bonjour_.”

Eve smiled, raised her cup in greeting, and murmured a “ _bonjour_ ” of her own, trying not to compare herself with the elegant woman – especially when Madeleine looked effortlessly beautiful and Eve sat rumpled in her dress greens. She took a sip of her coffee and watched Madeleine greet her husband.

Pierre beamed at his wife, looking as happy to see her now as he had been when she’d gotten off the train. They traded softly spoken greetings that Eve had trouble following so early in the morning. The conversation ended when Madeleine gave her husband a kiss and went into the kitchen.

Within minutes, Louis had come tearing back into the dining room, dressed in a school uniform and dancing for his papa’s attention before being shuffled along to get under his mama’s feet under the pretense of helping with breakfast.

Eve laughed softly, thoroughly enjoying the family’s antics. There was no need for translations when the love they shared was as plain as the nose on Eve’s face.

Soon enough, Madeleine came back herding Louis in front of her as the little boy precariously toted a plate full of breakfast towards the table. He sat it, and then himself, down next to his papa, opposite Eve, and waited for his mama to pass out her two plates to the soldier and her husband before digging into his breakfast. Madeleine retrieved her own plate from the kitchen last of all, and only once her hosts had all settled down to eat did Eve take a bite of the toast and jam before her.

It was a wonderful way to start the morning.

“So,” Pierre began once he’d finished his breakfast and set his plate aside. “Today is your last day here, yes?”

Eve nodded.

“Is there anything you wish to see?”

Eve thought about it for a moment. When she’d left Mourmelon, she hadn’t had any particular desire to see the sights of Paris – merely get away from training for a while, to regain her focus. She’d always wanted to see the Louvre, but Hitler had apparently cleaned the place out when he left, and she didn’t think her heart could take seeing the building with nothing on its walls. Notre Dame and the Sacré-Coeur were reportedly lovely, but churches made her uncomfortable nowadays.

“Honestly, I think I’d just like to wander around a bit. See the sights,” she said.

Pierre nodded thoughtfully.

Eve bit her lip, knowing what she really wanted more than anything but somewhat hesitant to ask. “Do you have a shower I can use?”

She felt filthy. Madeleine’s pristine appearance hammered it home all the more. Eve just wanted to be clean.

Pierre looked at her, astonishment in his dark eyes, enough that Eve blushed and tried to explain. “There’s no time for such things on the line, and I –“

“But of course,” said Pierre, interrupting her. “You wish to be clean. I understand. We only have a _baignoire_ – how you say, bathtub? – but I think this will be sufficient, _non_?”

Eve nodded, excited at the prospect. She hadn’t had a bath in years. It sounded like nothing short of heaven.

Pierre gave her a smile that was almost sad before speaking with Madeleine. She looked at her husband before also smiling sadly at Eve. She rose from the table and gave instructions to both Louis and his papa before gesturing for Eve to follow her.

She quickly gathered her spare set of clothes, her ODs, still two-sizes too big, and followed the woman.

Eve heard the men tidying up breakfast as Madeleine led Eve to the back of the apartment where the family slept and bathed.

The hallway was narrow, with black and white pictures of what must be Madeleine and Pierre’s family clustering in neat little groups on the white plaster walls.

Madeleine opened the door to a plain bathroom, adorned with black and red accents. Madeleine quickly fiddled with the knobs on the claw-foot tub, inviting Eve to watch so she could adjust it for herself later.

Madeleine pulled out soap and bottles and found a towel for Eve to use out of a cupboard. She smiled once more at Eve, and slipped from the bathroom.

Alone, truly alone for the first time she could remember in a very long time, Eve spent a moment just listening to the sound of running water hitting a porcelain basin and then itself. Eve locked the door, and leaned against the wood barricading herself from the outside world.

She took a deep breath of the steaming air, her lungs expanding. When the bath was full, she turned off the water, shed her clothes, and folded them with care.

Turning to the bath, she tested the water with a toe first, the searing heat sent radiating waves of warmth up her spine and neck. She let out a deep breath and got the rest of her foot into the water, warm through to the bone for the first time in months.

Eve slid into the bathtub slowly, letting the water lap over her skin gently as she sank deeper. She sank into the steaming, clean water with a whimper as the water soothed aches she hadn't acknowledged in years. Muscles in her back finally unbuckled and relaxed and Eve thought she probably hadn’t properly relaxed since Sobel had kept her standing at attention that first day of her probation. It seemed that every time she’d tried to relax since then, something popped up to slap her in the face and remind her that nowhere was safe – that she was at war – and whether or not she was on the front line with Easy at her back, or in the reserves surrounded by replacements and other companies that she didn’t know – and frankly, couldn’t trust – there was always danger.

But here, bathed in the sun of “The City of Lights,” surrounded in warmth, and truly clean for the first time in ages, she felt the fear that had dogged her heels for years be soothed away with each gentle swish of the water. Eve dunked her head, and came up clean.

She grabbed the soap and scrubbed herself. The agony of the front seemed to float to the surface of the water and once the water got cold, it went down the drain.

Eve drained and refilled the water three times before she was satisfied that all the dirt and grime had swirled down the drain.

With one last sigh, Eve stood, the water dripping from her hair. She dried herself briskly with the towel Madeleine left, rubbing her hair back and forth under its dry bristles and making it all stand on end.

She felt oddly light when she slipped into her only remaining pair of undergarments – which were still filthy due to her having no spares to wear while she tried to clean them – and then her clean ODs overtop. They were still too large, and had all the shape of a flour sack, but they were crisp, and clean. They were clearly meant for a man, and one at least half a foot taller than her at that, but they felt light on her clean skin. She tugged on her old pair of socks, thinking that she needed to requisition new ones soon, and spent a moment lacing up her boots.

Eve rolled up a sleeve and pulled the plug from under the now lukewarm water. Leaving the towel she dried off with draped over her neck, she half-heartedly scrubbed at the damp hair beneath her ears once more before gathering her folded dress greens and heading back out into the main room of the flat.

She tried not to feel too self-conscious when she came back to find Pierre with his arms around Madeleine’s waist as they did the morning’s dishes together. Pierre heard Eve entering and gave her an easy smile.

Madeleine tisked when she saw Eve. She murmured something to Pierre, who turned his own assessing eyes to Eve, scanning her up and down.

Eve blushed under their scrutiny, knowing she still looked dreadful for all that she was finally clean. Her hair was refusing to lie straight, too long to be regulation any more, but still too short to make it do anything other than what it wanted. She was far too thin now to look anything but gaunt, and the sack did her no favors. She shivered in the cool air as the dratted draft slipped through the space between her body and her ODs.

Pierre nodded in apparent agreement with his wife before addressing Eve.

“Those clothes are much too big for you, and far too light to be suitable for winter. Madeleine wishes to loan you a dress for the day while we go to Madame Bissette to get them reinforced.”

Eve tried to dissuade him. “These are temporary until our winter gear arrives. I’m sure they’ll be in by the time I get back to base,” she said, even though she was sure of nothing of the sort. “There’s really no need to adjust them if I’m getting new ones soon. Besides, this is regulation.”

“Nonsense,” said Pierre. “Madame Bissette would never let me rest if I did not take you to her when I could. She is a dear friend to me, but not someone whom I want angry with me, you understand? There is nothing for it, we must go.”

Having no suitable reply that would not be impolitic, Eve just nodded and followed Madeleine back to the couple’s bedroom.

The room was neat and tidy, which Eve had expected, with the same white walls and dark woods of the rest of the house, but accented with blue in the curtains and bedspread to liven up the room.

Madeleine opened the armoire and rifled through her clothes, pulling out dresses and glancing at Eve – assessing their fit with her eyes. Madeleine was shorter than Eve and had a more generous figure, but Eve thought the other woman’s clothes might fit – especially since Eve had dropped any and all excess weight she had ever had over the last three years.

The dress Madeleine finally handed Eve was a deep forest green that should hit just below her knees, and belted at the waist. Eve slipped off her ODs, feeling bare in her filthy, worn undergarments – stained with mud-smears (and some other things much worse than dirt) – and pitted with holes as they valiantly fought to hold together with nothing more than a prayer.

Though she must have noticed, Eve was grateful when Madeleine didn’t comment.

Eve slipped the borrowed dress on. The fabric was soft with age, and Eve marveled at the silken feel of it swishing around her claves as she walked to the mirror at Madeleine’s urging. It was the first dress she’d worn since Aldbourne. It felt just a bizarre now it did then. Eve didn’t recognize the figure in the mirror – a boy’s too slim frame, with lanky, tousled hair too long for the military cut it was supposed to be and far too short to be a woman’s. Her face looked hollow with hunger – suddenly Madeleine’s insistence on feeding her made more sense. Despite the flattering cut of the dress, there wasn’t much it could do without a figure to enhance. Eve felt naked in the skirt and V-neck of the dress – exposed in a way she’d never experienced before and awkward in her skin for the first time.

“ _Vous êtes belle_ ,” said Madeleine reassuringly.

Eve thought the woman might be calling her beautiful and laughed – a sharp, sad sound. She didn’t believe the woman in the slightest.

Unable to look at herself anymore, Eve folded her ODs and slipped them into a cotton sack Madeleine pulled from the closet with a demure set of heels and a handbag, which she offered to Eve.

Eve took off her boots and socks, watching Madeleine’s sharp eyes take note of the wear in the weave. Eve tucked the socks into her boots and resolved to set them with the small pile of the rest of her things.

She slipped on the heels awkwardly. They were half a size too big, but Eve had faced greater foes than blisters.

Madeleine, eyes on Eve, reached forward and smoothed her hair into some kind of order and smiled.

“ _C’est bon_ ,” said Madeleine. They were finished.

“ _Merci_ ,” said Eve, grateful.

She took off her dog tags and slipped them into her boots as well, where they’d be safe. She felt even more naked without them – which she wouldn’t have believed was possible before taking them off, but didn’t allow herself to put them back on for comfort.

 _It’s far safer to blend in_ , Eve reminded herself.

She smiled at Madeleine – who grabbed the sack holding her ODs for herself, letting Eve take her boots – and let herself be led out of the room, stumbling awkwardly on the unfamiliar heels before her former grace returned. By the time the two women made it back to the living room, Eve felt confident she wouldn’t break her ankle even with the hazardous cobblestone streets that Europe was infamous for.

Pierre was waiting for her with one of Madeleine’s coats by the door. Eve stopped by the couch to pick up her back-pay, stashed in one of her musette bags, and tucked it into the purse. Unable to bear leaving them behind, she slipped her dog-tags into the small bag too.

Finally ready, Eve met Pierre, who helped her slip into the thick, black cotton coat. Madeleine pulled a white scarf from the peg and helped Eve tie it over her hair, adjusting it to her satisfaction.

She donned her own coat, a much thicker brown one, and a red headscarf of her own, tying it tightly with the confidence that she looked wonderful.

“Louis!” she called. “ _C'est l'heure de l'école_!”

The pounding of little feet heralded Louis once more; this time he was towing a little school bag with him.

“ _Je suis prêt, maman_ ,” he said. Pierre bent down and gave his son a hug and a kiss on his head, kissed his wife as well and held the door open as he herded his family out of the apartment. Eve waited as he locked the door behind him, Louis and Madeleine already on their way down the stairs.

Louis and Madeline met them at the door of the building, giving Pierre a final wave before they joined the bustling crowd of pedestrians hurrying through the midmorning streets of Paris.

“Shall we?” said Pierre holding his hand out, indicating the opposite direction from where Madeleine and Louis had gone.

Eve smiled and followed the man into the crowd.

Pierre seemed to know everyone. He nodded at the flower sellers, traded salutations with waiters, stole pastries off baker’s stands, receiving nothing more than an a indulgent grin from the shop attendants. Everyone seemed happy to see him and he seemed happy to see everyone.

It lightened her heart. It was obvious that the war had brought together these people, these neighbors who looked after each other with solidarity and love, despite the Nazi’s best efforts in tearing it apart. Eve had seen firsthand many of the atrocities that had ripped into this country, enough that she’d all but lost her own faith in humanity. It was good to see that the war hadn’t touched everyone that way; that people were still able to be optimistic even, especially when Eve just couldn’t be anymore.

Randomly, Pierre veered into one of the shops lining the cobbled street that looked no different to Eve’s eyes than the last dozen they’d passed. He held the door open for her and ushered her inside.

Madame Bissette’s shop was a cluttered affair. There were mannequins with pinned dresses stood in orderly rows, bolts of fabric jutted from cubbyholes in the walls, and baskets of buckles and buttons glinting in the morning light where they lined the tables. Ribbons of all colors and patterns were displayed on racks that hung down from the ceiling, and all around women in clusters gossiped as their needles flew and hands flickered through the various selections available and the latest volumes of _Vogue_.

Pierre stood rigidly still, his hands in his pockets, and rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited – an island of masculinity in a den of females. He seemed satisfied with waiting rather than trying to venture further into what was clearly a woman’s world.

He didn’t have to wait long. After only a few moments, a middle-aged woman, elegant in the latest fashion but with a no-nonsense air, greeted Pierre. It was the woman’s confidence more than anything that convinced Eve that she was looking at Madame Bissette.

“ _Pierre, cher ami, bonjour_!” said the woman, kissing both of Pierre’s cheeks as she held his shoulders.

Pierre gave her a winning smile. “ _Bonjour_ , Madame Bissette.”

Eve watched with some trepidation as Pierre and Madame Bissette began speaking French rapidly between themselves. She’d never felt more foreign than right now and resolved anew to learn French if it killed her. She was tired of being in the dark.

She tried to watch, to discern what they were saying, but their speed only let her catch every third word or so. She caught her name, perhaps even her rank and division, maybe something about the summer, death as well, and blasted _Jeanne d’Arc_ again, but what any of that had to do with anything else, or went towards explaining why they were in the dress shop at all, was beyond her. Still, as Madame Bissette turned calculating eyes on her, she guessed that Pierre had explained the problem.

“ _Oui_ ,” said the intimidating woman, eyes as sharp as an eagle’s. “ _Voyons ce qu'on peut faire_.”

She took Eve around the waist with a friendly, but firm arm, and pulled her deeper into the shop. Eve looked back at Pierre, but the traitor just waved and left her to flounder with her fledgling French as army of women brandishing bolts of fabric, pins, and measuring tape besieged her.

She lost her coat and scarf in the fray.

Someone pulled her ODs from their cloth bag, exclaiming over them with obvious dismay. Eve tried not to take offense. The uniform had served her well on the hardest days she’d ever faced, sure it was shapeless and made of nothing but tough, thin cotton, but it felt better on her skin than the fine, soft fabric of her borrowed dress.

She was shunted into a dressing room, a shop assistant followed her, just smiling when Eve tried to wait for her to leave. With a sigh, and trying to remind herself that she used to have people to help her get ready all the time at home, Eve got undressed, carefully shedding Madeleine’s dress.

The assistant said nothing, but Eve watched the pity on her face in the mirror of the room as her tattered underthings were revealed. With an uncomfortable cough, Eve allowed the other woman to measure her once more before slipping into the ODs. The assistant helped her button up the ODs from the bottom, while Eve started from the top. They finished quickly and Eve was pushed out to the main shop once more where an army of well-meaning women attacked her with yet more pins and measurements.

“ _Non_ ,” she tried when someone tried to pin her pants to her calves. “You can’t add too much there, I need to lace up my boots!” She pantomimed lacing up her combat boots and where they would hit her calves.

“ _Bottes_?” guessed one of the girls. It sounded close to the word boots, so Eve nodded and tried to reemphasize what she needed once more.

“ _Oui_ ,” she said. “Boots.”

The women nodded talking amongst themselves as they made some adjustments.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the women to finish. Madame Bissette gave Eve one last thoughtful nod, before she waved her back into the dressing room.

The same young woman accompanied her, this time gingerly helping her remove the ODs so she wouldn’t accidentally stab herself on the pins. Eve was privately amazed that she hadn’t been pricked even once despite having so many people working on her at once.

Eve slipped back into the borrowed dress, this time taking comfort in the familiar dark green color.

She stepped back into the shoes and the assistant pulled open the curtain separating her from the rest of the shop.

Someone had found her coat and the young woman helped her slide into it in the same way that Pierre had this morning. Someone else redid her headscarf.

Eve was shuffled through the shop but put on the breaks before she was shunted by the register.

Through Eve’s very basic French, she stuttered her way through trying to ask how much she owed them, but Madame Bissette would hear nothing of it. After a painful conversation, Eve finally figured out she was supposed to come back for her ODs around four o’clock.

“ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” she said, knowing no deeper way to express her gratitude.

“ _Allez-y_ ,” said Madame Bissette, smiling for the first time in Eve’s acquaintance.

Eve knew that word. She left the shop feeling as though she’d just survived a windstorm.

She spotted Pierre, leaning against the brick wall a few shops down, smoking. He seemed to be observing a game of craps happening on the sidewalk next to him. He smiled at Eve as she joined him.

“You survived!” he said. “I am impressed.”

Eve didn’t know him well enough to smack him on the arm, so she settled for glaring at him.

He beamed at her, amused, and snubbed his cigarette out on the wall behind him. Laying a hand on the player nearest him, he bid them farewell. They let him go with a grumble and what sounded like good-natured teasing – enough that Eve suspected he’d been more of an active participant than a spectator.

“When did she say we should return?” he asked.

“Around four,” said Eve. “My train is at seven.”

Pierre grinned, “She works quickly, our Madame. We have a few hours to spare. Shall we perhaps see the sights?”

Shrugging, indifferent, Eve followed Pierre as he started walking. He had yet to lead her astray after all. She was truly blessed to have found such a friendly family in such a foreign place. Even though she disagreed with her supposed fame on principle, and even with all the problems it had caused her throughout training, she supposed she was, in this singular incident, grateful for it, because it let her meet such remarkable people like Pierre, Madeleine, Julien, and Brigitte.

After so long in the Army, Eve was used to walking for long periods without much thought, so she was more than content to follow Pierre as he led her through the streets of the _Saint-Michel_ district. An ancient city, Paris didn’t follow the regimented grid pattern that characterized most American cities. Instead, a veritable maze of streets radiated from the Seine, following forgotten walls and curving on a whim.

Still, Pierre seemed to know all of them and he told her little anecdotes as they went, some personal, some historical, but all of them told with the same good humor Eve had come to associate with him.

They rounded a corner and came upon _Place Saint-Michel_. A magnificent statue of St. Michael vanquishing the demon Lucifer dominated a fountain that abutted the corner of the building where two streets collided. Cafés and boutiques lined the streets, but what struck Eve was just how many GIs there were crammed into them. A veritable sea of green nearly clogged the streets on either side. Pierre grabbed her arm and to keep from losing her as he turned left and began to fight his way through the boisterous crowd.

She felt like an ant caught in a stream, just able to keep her head up to keep from drowning, but unable to properly breathe. There were entirely too many people in uniform. None of them were familiar and everyone was yelling and pushing. It made her head spin as her senses tried to keep up with the dramatic influx of stimuli. There was too much sound, too many people bumping into her as they hurried by to places unknown. Her mind was so used to tracking movement that her eyes blurred, trying to keep up. The horrid stench of gasoline and human waste was nothing at all like the ones she'd been desensitized to, such as decaying flesh. The rank stink of urine perfumed the air like a cloud.

 _God above_ , she thought, sticking close to Pierre. _How do people live here_?

Somehow they made it to the banks of the Seine and her breath caught.

From this distance, Notre Dame seemed to defy gravity.

Eve paused and leaned against the concrete barrier between her and the river. Pierre planted himself next to her and joined her looking out over the brown river.

The dark grey stone stood out vividly from the white washed walls of the surrounding buildings and the grey sky. Alone on its little island in the middle of the Seine, it was imposing and peaceful while being all at once awe-inspiring. None of the pictures Eve had seen did her any justice. The beautiful building reached towards the sky with less effort than it would take Eve to lift her arms.

Next to her, Pierre sighed. “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

Eve nodded.

“You know, just a hundred years ago, they thought to tear her down.”

Eve knew her shock was plain on her face. _Why would anyone want to tear down such a wonder?_

“Yes,” said Pierre, as though he was reading her thoughts. “The well to-do thought her gothic beauty garish and out of date. A campaign was run to tear her down and rebuild something modern. Luckily, Mr. Hugo knew that Notre Dame is the heart of Paris. He wrote his book _Notre Dame de Paris_ in part to save the cathedral.”

Eve resolved to read the book if she ever found a copy in English.

“Come,” said Pierre.

He led her across the bridge to the plaza in front of the church, but didn’t go inside. It was closed to the public for some sort of private event. Eve was disheartened, but tried to content herself with the knowledge that before seeing the building in person, she’d had no real interest in seeing it at all.

Still, Pierre seemed to sense her disappointment and led her away, further across the river, to the other side of the island. They walked up its banks all the way to the Louvre. It was only a few miles, and the river walk was full of life. Artists sold their paintings and sketches while they rendered the lively scenes around them in fantastic colors. Little stands were packed with paperback books and magazines. Eve stopped and picked up Hemingway’s newest novel _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ surprised to find a copy in English and a book in French that Pierre recommended for Gene when she mentioned perhaps finding her medic friend a Christmas gift.

It only just occurred to her as she waded through the book titles that Christmas was just around the corner and she might never have an opportunity to buy gifts like this again.

It was the first time in two years she felt as though she ought to buy the other guys in her unit presents. She figured she should probably get something for both Gene and Liebgott, maybe Alley, since he was in her squad again. Toye and Guarnere would complain endlessly if she got the others something and not them. Come to think of it, Eve figured she should probably just buy all the NCOs something and save herself the headache of leaving someone out. The back-pay in Madeline’s borrowed purse should be more than enough to cover it, regardless.

She also had her family to think of. Eliza would certainly never forgive her if she went to Paris and didn’t send back some kind of souvenir.

The Louvre was closed, and apparently had been for years. The Nazis had emptied it when they fled the city, leaving the walls barren and not truly worth seeing without breaking her heart, so Pierre led her a few streets over from the museum, back through more narrow and mazelike streets to a shop with the word _Chocolatier_ written in gold on the window.

Pierre held open the door for her and Eve eagerly went inside.

Eve had been in chocolate shops before, but none like this. Statues of solid chocolate carved into graceful swans, trees so realistic they might sway in the breeze and eatable paintings interspersed with the most delicate and delectable treats Eve had ever seen. In the center of the room, rising like the Colossus was a ten-foot tall replica of the Eiffel Tower.

“Welcome to the home of the world’s greatest _chocolatier_ ,” said Pierre. “I have found that _chocolat_ is always a good gift to give friends. I think I shall pick out something for Louis, if you’d like to look around?”

Eve didn’t need to be asked twice. Feeling an odd mix between a child in a toy shop and a bull in a china shop, Eve moved from display to display, taking in the wonderful shapes and delights, scared to touch in case the fragile chocolate would break under her fingers.

There was a hushed conversation behind her. Eve paid it no mind as she looked over the case of truffles thoughtfully, trying to decide if she should get several different flavors and let the boys pick and choose or perhaps just get a couple of the finely decorated bars she’d spied earlier.

“ _Excusez-moi_ ,” said a voice from behind her. “ _Êtes-vous vraiment_ , Evelyn Buchanan?”

Eve turned to the woman behind her. She was dressed in a skirted suit and tie. Eve thought she must work there.

“ _Oui_ ,” replied Eve, somehow wishing she was surprised, a feeling she immediately felt guilty about when the woman smiled, clearly excited.

“ _Attendez ici s'il vous plaît_ ,” – Eve figured out the part where the woman said please, but could tell from the woman’s hands, that she was supposed to stay. “ _Le chef aimerait vous rencontrer_.”

The woman turned and disappeared behind a door that said “ _Employés_ ” Eve watched her go, thinking perhaps the woman wanted her to wait? Everyone here spoke so quickly, it was hard to keep up. She didn’t know if Gene’s accent had made him speak at a pace she could follow or if he had intentionally slowed down for her when he’d spoken to her in French before. The people here were nearly indecipherable.

Pierre came over from the other side of the store. He gave her a questioning look, glancing at the door the woman had disappeared through and back at her with a quirked eyebrow. Eve shrugged, lost as well.

They didn’t have to wait long before the woman reappeared, a short, stout man in a white coat and a tall chef’s hat beside her.

“ _Chef Richard, voilà Evelyn Buchanan. Je ne pense pas qu'elle parle français_.”

Eve knew the woman had just introduced her to the chef, named Richard, and then said that she didn’t speak French, which was true enough that Eve didn’t bother protesting.

The man took Evelyn’s hand and kissed it, mustache tickling her knuckles uncomfortably.

“Of course,” said Richard, his baritone voice heavy with his accent and what sounded uncomfortably like gratitude. “You honor my humble shop with your presence. Please, you are most welcome here Madame Buchanan, our _Jeanne d’Arc._ ” Eve tried not to flinch. He was treating her like royalty. She was just a soldier. “And you are?” he said, looking at Pierre expectantly.

“Pierre Roux. _Enchanté_.”

“Chef Richard Bonet, _à votre service_ ,” said Richard before switching back to English for Eve’s benefit. “This is my shop. I hope you find it to your satisfaction? Of course, with the rationing, we have been forced to cut back. But joy is the fruit of life, which is more important in the troubled times than ever. And there is no greater joy than _chocolat_.”

Eve nodded, eyes wide as she looked over the shop anew. If this was “cutting back” she couldn’t imagine what wonders had been produced in the shop’s heyday.

“We were just looking for Christmas presents for Sergeant Buchanan’s comrades. She mentioned sweets and I could think of no better place to bring her,” Pierre said for her. The chef glanced at Eve for confirmation and she nodded along.

To her horror, the man’s eyes filled with tears.

“We would be honored, deeply honored,” Richard said and kissed her hand again. Sniffling, he stepped back and gestured to the woman who’d pulled him from the back. “I must return to my work, but Lucienne will help you. Whatever you desire, you have but to ask.”

With a last grateful kiss of her hand, Richard went back to his kitchen.

“Pierre,” Eve hissed. “What exactly did those papers say about me?”

“You are France’s _héroïne_ ,” he said back. “There is nothing that Paris would not do for you.”

She grabbed his arm, trying to angle the gesture out of Lucienne’s sight. “I didn’t do anything hundreds of others didn’t do.”

“No,” said Pierre, gently taking her hand from his arm and squeezing it tight before putting it down. “You did what no one else did, you decided to fight for us, a country you have never been to before, merely because your heart told you that it was the right thing to do. God sent you to France, I know this in my heart. Let us show our appreciation in the only way we can.”

Eve knew the story of Joan of Arc. She’d been betrayed by the king of France at the end and met her death as a heretic after being raped and tortured. The name had frightened her when she’d first heard it – it was a difficult legacy to aspire to and one she’d never even considered hers to receive. If people truly believed she was Joan of Arc reborn, perhaps the people of France felt they owed her a debt. It made her uncomfortable. She was not this hero they were making her out to be. She was just trying to be a good soldier and survive.

“Besides,” said Pierre, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You would not want to disappoint Chef Richard?”

Eve gave into temptation this time and smacked him on the arm. The bastard just laughed at her and turned his charm on the now uncomfortable looking Lucienne. Eve gave the petite woman a tentative smile.

Lucienne returned the gesture three fold, ushering the two customers to her favorite parts of the shop.

Over the next hour, Lucienne and Pierre teamed up to feed Eve what seemed like every variation of every kind of chocolate delight in the shop.

Eve tried them all with great gusto. Each one she tried immediately became a new favorite as tart raspberry and decadent fluffy mousse exploded on her palate. She ate so many that after years on dehydrated K bars, and months of stale bread and moldy apples, she easily made herself sick.

Fighting to keep it down, Eve distracted Lucienne with packaging up her selections in a few boxes. She swore Pierre to secrecy, with the additional promise not to tell the lovely Lucienne – who didn’t speak enough English to understand Eve’s rush to the bathroom beyond the necessity of it – and tried not to run before she couldn’t control her stomach any longer.

Besides, as far as Eve was concerned, it was, by far, the nicest thing to ever make her sick. _Worth it_ , she thought. With a final glance in a conveniently placed mirror, taking the time to dust away the tears that had fallen in her retching, Eve headed back to the shop.

Pierre hovered guiltily over her when she came back until she glared at him. He straightened the headscarf that had become askew and took a step back from her.

Lucien had finished boxing up Eve’s selections and had packed the boxes into a bag. Eve looked it over, the boxes would be a bit cumbersome, but she it shouldn’t be too bad. It wasn’t like she’d need to take them all into combat with her – she’d distribute them around Christmas so the boxes shouldn’t be a problem unless someone spoiled the surprise.

Chef Richard came out once more, to see her off. He and Lucienne tried to refuse to take her money, but Eve put her foot down and insisted. Gratitude was one thing, charity was another, and this was their livelihood. Eve knew they’d probably given her a hefty discount regardless, but at least her pride was soothed.

She ignored Pierre laughing at her as they left the shop and made him carry the bag.

-

Pierre led her back towards the river. They wandered the _Jardins de Tuileries_. Eve had always loved Impressionist painting, and the _Jardins de Tuileries_ was where that movement started. Her uncle had sent her mother an original Monet that the artist had painted in the gardens. Though small, it had hung in a place of pride in the entryway. Even remembering the soft pastels and blurred brushstrokes brought Eve a sensation of peace that couldn’t possibly be explained.

Her love of impressionism had been something she and her mother shared. It was the one, truly feminine thing that Eve found pleasure in. Her mother, Carol, had wasted no time in indulging Eve, hoping that her love of the paintings would open the door to other feminine things. They’d gone to the Met at least twice a year, every year to see the exhibits that passed through and revisit their favorite pieces. Carol had always loved the drama of the Baroque pieces, but Eve had always been drawn to the serenity in the Impressionists.

Being here, in the gardens that started all that, Eve yearned for her mama.

Pierre was a good substitute. He bought her ice-cream and insisted they eat it while lying in the grass, watching the clouds.

When they’d finished their cones, and washed off the stickiness in a public fountain, Pierre led her onwards.

They crossed the Seine once, on _La Pont Royal_ then kept going straight until the _Boulevard de Saint-Germain_. Its tree-lined streets were also somewhat crowded, but not nearly as choked as the _Place Saint-Michel_ had been. It was scenic and beautiful, but loud. They ducked into a Café and grabbed a baguette stuffed with salami meat and cheese to munch on as they walked.

The shadows were getting longer, leaving most of the street in the shade of the buildings that lined it. Eve knew that they’d walked in a very rough approximation of a circle. Presumably, they were slowly making their way back to Madam Bissette’s shop to pick up Eve’s ODs.

A street name caught Evelyn’s attention; _Rue du Dragon_ and tickled her memory.

 _“We live in Paris now, at No. 38 Dragon Street,_ Rue du Dragon, _as the Parisians say,” said Uncle Peter as she sat in his lap with a laugh._

“Do you mind if we turn here?” Eve asked, stopping at the street. “I think my uncle lives down this road.”

“Not at all,” said Pierre, allowing them to veer down the narrow, one lane road.

“Tell me about your uncle?” asked Pierre.

“I haven’t seen him in a decade,” confessed Eve. “He was a curator, I think. He and his family came to visit us in the States. I was just a girl then. He had a daughter about my age. She was one of my greatest friends as a child. She didn’t mind in the least if we played in the mud as long as our dolls could come too,” said Eve, trailing off into memory.

“And what did you say to such a proposition?” prompted Pierre.

Eve laughed. “The more the merrier of course!”

“Of course,” said Pierre with an indulgent smile.

Eve huffed a laugh. “I didn’t have many friends when I was little,” she admitted. “But I always got along with Vivienne. She was a good friend. Anyway, Uncle Peter was the one who gave my father a Monet once. It was my favorite thing to look at when I was a girl.”

Pierre whistled. “That was a generous gift.”

“He was a curator. He’d just moved to Paris when they visited, gosh, ten years ago now?” she shook her head. “Anyway, I haven’t heard from any of them in years, probably because of the war.”

Pierre nodded. “What house did you say it was?”

“Number 38, I think. We might have to read the mailbox,” Eve admitted.

Pierre laughed. “It’ll be an adventure, then, like a treasure hunt.”

Eve laughed as well and agreed.

Pierre kept her laughing, feeling light as a feather, as he entertained her with stories of Louis’s adventures and misadventures, particularly how Louis had ruined three pairs of trousers in one afternoon when they came upon the house.

Eve’s stomach dropped to her toes.

Broken glass from smashed windows cracked under her heels making her stumble, or perhaps that was because her knees were buckling.

The front door was hanging on its hinges, but all Eve could see was the word, spray painted in grotesque red across the door and scaring the white washed wall when it ran out of room.

 _Juden_.

Terrified of what she’d find, Eve squared her shoulders. With a trembling hand, she pushed the door all the way open and carefully stepped inside.

The walls had been stripped. Wallpaper lay limp in great swaths from where it had been ripped down by grasping hands. Debris cluttered the floor, threatening her stability further. Eve ran her hand along the wall for balance, feeling the water damage underneath.

An ornate table still stood guard in the foyer, a vase toppled and shattered at its feet, the wilted flower arrangement still buried under the painted porcelain.

The grand staircase dominated the room. There was dried blood on the steps, she would recognize it anywhere after so long at war. Eve slipped and landed hard on her knees on the parquet floors, the debris cutting into her skin. She didn’t even notice. There was a lump in her throat.

Pierre was at her side, his arm snaking around her shoulder as he tried to pull her to her feet. Eve didn’t think she could move. It was like the world had shifted beneath her feet and left only a nauseating sense of vertigo behind.

Pierre somehow coaxed her off the floor, all but holding her up as she surveyed the damage anew.

This didn't make any sense. She'd heard the rumors, everyone had. Hitler hadn't made much secret about the persecution happening in Germany, about people being rounded up and sent away. It had almost been enough to keep the US out of the 1936 Olympics.

But it shouldn't have happened to these people.

They weren't even Jewish.

Eve looked down at her hands. They were trembling and disgustingly clean. If they’d still been covered in the grime from the front – where Eve had earned each and every stain on her hands and ODs – and not sitting here uselessly in a dress and heels, maybe she wouldn’t be feeling so helpless in the ruined foyer of her abducted family, too late to do anything.

Her eyes blurred and her breath hitched. Eve sobbed and before she knew it she was crying in earnest. Pierre pulled her into his chest and Eve buried her tears into his shoulder.

“ _Je suis désolé, mon amie. Je suis désolé_ ,” he said into her hair.

Eve sobbed all the harder at his condolences, feeling as though her soul had been gouged out, and left behind an empty husk of sorrow and despair. She knew – deep in her gut where pain and dread festered – that they were all dead.

It took Eve a while to gather herself enough to pull away. She wiped her eyes and found her self-control, trying to shove all of her despair into a box.

“What happened here?” she asked Pierre, her voice cracking with grief.

He looked stricken and was quiet for a long time before answering, soft and gently, not removing his arm from around her.

“July before last, the Nazis ordered the arrest of every Jew in the city. They held them at the _Vélodrome d'Hiver_ , a stadium for cycling nearby. After that, we tracked them to a camp in Drancy, but then…” he paused, “they were all put on trains and shipped east. We lost them when they left the urban area.”

He sounded as heartbroken as Eve felt.

"They weren't even Jewish," Eve insisted, desperate for him to believe her. For him to tell her that it was all a mistake. "They were Catholics. I’m sure of it! My father became an Evangelical Christian when he married my mother, but the rest of my family is Catholic. They weren't Jews. I swear it."

He looked at her, lost and mournful and she understood. It didn't matter what their religion was –had been; they were still gone.

“These were good people, Pierre, and now they’re gone. It’s like someone tried to erase them completely,” said Eve softly, afraid her voice would abandon her if she did more than whisper.

They sat together, in the mausoleum that was once a grand house. Eve tried to cement her memories of her family into her memory now – though the memories she had were already faded and fuzzy.

Pierre squeezed her shoulders and said quietly, “We should go.”

Eve nodded. He was right. There was nothing more she could to do here.

Her eyes found the broke vase once more. A small piece had skated away from the shattered whole, ending up at Eve’s feet. The white porcelain was decorated with tiny blue flora in blue. A lily blossom, inscribed forever halfway into a bloom stared up at her, dull under the dust. Eve picked it up and rubbed her finger across the flowers, the glossy veneer underneath the grime gleamed in the sunlight. It reminded her of Vivienne’s smile.

She tucked the shard gently into her borrowed purse.

If she ever felt any doubt about why she had crossed an ocean to fight those Nazi bastards, at least she’d have a reminder.

Pierre led her out of the house, closing the door behind them.

They headed back to Madame Bissette’s, Pierre taking them on a direct route. Eve’s wanderlust had been thoroughly drained. Even the lively streets of Paris couldn’t draw her out of the dull gray that permeated her thoughts.

Still, in some ways, it had felt good to cry, and that thought made her feel both better and worse.

The Madame’s shop was just as bustling as before, but everyone gave them a wide berth regardless. If Eve looked half as desolate as she felt, then it was no wonder. They made their way to the back of the shop, where Madame Bissette was sorting through papers on a crowded desk.

Eve felt stripped to the bone under Madame Bissette’s keen stare. The woman stood, and walked around the desk to stand in front of Eve. She gripped the younger woman’s bicep first and then cupped her chin gently.

“ _L'espoir fait vivre_ ,” she said, looking oddly kind. “Where there is life, there is hope. Keep your chin up, _ma chérie_. You are strong,” said Madame Bissette.

Eve didn’t know how Madame Bissette could know she was strong, but as she scanned the woman’s face she found no evidence of doubt. Eve swallowed thickly – her mind flashing to her memories of Uncle Peter and Vivienne and their ransacked house. She shoved it all away. There would be time to mourn later, when the war was over.

She nodded at the woman – still not sure she agreed with the sentiment, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do – and gave her a thin smile before redirecting. “Since when do you speak English?” she asked.

Madame Bissette smiled. “It is never wise to reveal all advantages.”

Eve nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” said Madame Bissette. “Now, for your clothes,” she snapped her fingers loud enough that the sound rang throughout the shop. “Clarissa!” she called.

The assistant from earlier in the morning stepped forward, Eve’s ODs cradled in her arms.

Stepping aside, Madame Bissette gestured for Eve to follow Clarissa to the back to the changing area, she held back the curtain and let Eve and Clarissa slip inside.

With Clarissa’s unnecessary help, Eve changed into her ODs.

She looked at herself in the mirror. In her ODs once more, Eve finally felt at home. It took a minute for Eve to look past the way she felt in her uniform to look at the uniform itself.

Admittedly, they didn’t look much different. The loose kaki still hung off her like a sack, but she could tell already that they were much warmer; they stuck closer to her skin now. She shifted – making sure her range of motion wasn’t compromised – it wasn’t, but there was something odd. Feeling along the seams under her armpits, she found hidden, buttoned up vents. If she opened them, they should allow the ODs to breathe should the weather be unusually warm. In such a scenario, Eve knew that at worst she could probably tear the lining out. If their supplies were delayed again, she might be stuck with these ODs come spring.

She checked her pants and, just like she’d requested, there was enough leeway in the fabric that she would be able to lace up her boots.

Clarissa tugged at the shoulders and ran her hands over the fabric briskly to smooth out any wrinkles.

Clarissa gave Eve another smile and opened the curtain.

Eve took the hint and stepped onto the shop floor. Pierre gave her a grin. She blinked, surprised to see him in the shop, but not really surprised at all.

Madame Bissette gave her a critical once over, a pencil held to her bottom lip in thought before she nodded in approval and stepped into Eve’s space once more. She tugged on the bottom of her jacket briskly and nodded as everything held.

“The lining is quilted cotton,” said Madame Bissette, speaking in English for Eve’s benefit once more. “It should breathe better than wool. If you get too warm, the vents on the sides can be opened. In between the lining and the cotton, I have put a layer of thick canvas to give you a bit of protection from the rain. It isn’t waterproof, but it is better than nothing.”

“Also,” she said, and turned Eve to look in the mirror once more. Madame Bissette reached up to unsnap the flap of Eve’s left breast pocket. Hidden there, underneath the fabric, right above her heart, was a silver medal, the kind that Catholics wore on chains around their necks stitched to her jacket with thick thread. Evelyn looked up and met Madame Bissette’s eye. It was St. Joan of Arc, in armor, her sword bare. “St. Joan is the patron saint of warriors and of Paris. May she protect you, through all the battles you must fight.”

Eve swallowed, her throat tight once more as she reached up to brush her fingers across the cold metal.

“Thank you,” Eve whispered, heart heavy.

Madame Bissette smiled, and stepped away.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have her boots and she had just enough respect for the uniform she fought so hard for that she couldn’t wear it in public without them – especially not in heels. Eve went back into the changing room and reluctantly put back on her borrowed dress. Even as she took it off, she missed wearing her uniform. She wondered if it would always be that way.

The room was still bustling when she came back out.

She found Pierre and asked him quietly, “I don’t suppose she’ll let me pay for this?”

He beamed at her and she sighed.

“That means no,” she said, thinking on her feet. “I would like to buy some scarves,” she announced.

He raised an eyebrow.

She answered his unasked questions. “For my unit. They’re still in summer gear too, and scarves are more useful than the chocolate. They’ll definitely last longer.”

“Fair enough,” said Pierre.

He waited patiently while Eve quickly browsed the spinning racks of scarves. She picked out the thickest, most neutral colored ones, finding a green that while not an exact match was close enough that the Army wouldn’t mind. She grabbed about twenty of them. Hauling them to the counter, she dumped the armful of fabric onto the counter.

Clarissa, who was manning the counter now, raised an eyebrow but said nothing – which was a little disappointing; Eve was spoiling for a fight. Instead, Clarissa smiled and rang up Eve’s selections.

The sum was expensive, but this shop had dedicated a whole day’s work to her ODs and Eve had more than enough back-pay to afford it again ten times over. Clarissa folded her scarves neatly, and packed them into a bag for her. She handed Eve her change and the bag with a muted “ _Merci beaucoup, Jeanne d’Arc_.”

The sun was past its zenith. Eve judged she only had a few hours before her train, so she and Pierre headed back to his flat.

On the walk back, Eve asked Pierre if they could stop by the Eiffel Tower. He agreed, and led her to _Le Métro_.

Pierre walked Eve through the ticketing and led her onto the rickety cable car. There was graffiti covering the walls, and only a few seats this late in the afternoon.

Pierre stood, holding on to the railing, leaning with the sway of the train as it rattled along the dark tunnels. The occasional lamp lit the tunnel, flashing intermittently and reminding her of mortar rounds and muzzle flashes.

Eve closed her eyes when it became too much, fighting to keep her breathing even as she struggled to contain her panic.

Pierre put a hand on her shoulder. Eve flinched badly, but her eyes snapped open to find Pierre, staring into her eyes just a few inches from her face.

“You’re okay, Evelyn.”

“I’m okay,” agreed Eve.

He nodded, and grabbed her hand and held on until they reached the proper stop. Pierre led her off the train, and let go of her hand.

Eve took a deep breath and followed Pierre out of the metro and up into the sunlight, feeling reborn.

She gasped.

She hadn’t realized how big the thing was. She’d been seeing it, way off in the distance, all day, but here, up close, it was huge.

Delicate black iron latticed back and forth as it pierced the sky and clouds.

Pierre smiled at her dumbfounded expression. “Shall we?”

Eve followed him forward, feeling her awe growing as she got closer to the base of the tower.

When they were finally standing underneath the massive structure, she bypassed the snaking line of GIs and French girls waiting to climb the stairs and see the view from the top. Eve had no interest in climbing to the top – especially if she had to wait in such a long line, but she wanted reach out and touch this monumental piece of history.

She led Pierre to one of the massive concrete feet. Eve climbed through a few bushes, and laid her hand on the warm stone and took a deep breath, feeling as though she was touching the soul of Paris.

Eve took a deep breath and exhaled her fear away.

“Thank you,” she said to the bemused Pierre.

He smiled. “Any time. She is the heart of Paris. Everyone should see her at least once.” He gazed up through the lattice-work of iron like it was an old friend and sighed. “Well, shall we go?”

Eve nodded.

The journey back to Pierre’s apartment was quick – _thank God_ , thought Eve. She was exhausted and her feet were killing her. She knew just by the way they felt, they were swollen and chafed with blisters. If there was one thing to be said for her combat boots: it was that at least they weren’t high heels.

Climbing the five flights of stairs to the apartment door was infinitely harder than going down them had been at the beginning of the day.

Madeleine greeted them at the door as they stripped off their coats and hung them on the rack. She kissed her husband and said, “ _Le dîner est dans le four_ ,” and headed back to the kitchen. From the delicious smell in the air, Eve guessed that she said dinner was ready.

Pierre waved Eve off as she went to help him set the table, so she excused herself to the bathroom, intending to change back into her ODs.

They were buried at the bottom of the bag from Madame Bissette’s. Also buried there were several sets of undergarments, two shockingly white t-shirts, and three pairs of thick, woolen socks. Profound gratitude nearly brought her to tears. She had meant to buy some, but it had slipped her mind. She had no idea who at the shop had slipped them in the bag or when it had occurred, but she found she didn’t care much when she put them on and they fit perfectly – even the bra.

Feeling comfortable once more, Eve folded the dress and took the shoes in hand. She placed the clothes and shoes in Madeleine and Pierre’s room and went back to the couch to sort her things.

Pierre had left her bag of chocolate on the couch and Madeleine had folded away all the linens. Eve blushed, realizing she’d been a terrible guest for not picking up after herself, especially with how generous her hosts were being.

She slipped one of her chocolate boxes beneath a couch pillow, to be discovered after she’d left.

She emptied the borrowed handbag, tucking the piece of porcelain from her Uncle’s house into the left breast pocket of her ODs, just under Joan of Arc for safekeeping, and tucked her back-pay away.

“Evelyn?” said Pierre from the hallway. “Are these yours?”

Eve looked up. Pierre was holding a pair of leather gloves.

“No,” said Eve. “They’re not mine.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “They do not belong to Madeleine. And they were in your coat pocket.”

He brought them over to Eve. “You should keep them.”

“Pierre,” protested Eve.

“See if they fit!” he said, beaming at her displeasure and completely overriding.

Eve tried to protest, but Pierre was persistent. Eventually, she indulged him and slid them on. They were softer than velvet on the inside, the brown leather supple as she flexed her hands.

“Now you must keep them,” insisted Pierre.

Eve looked at him – he would not be moved – and gave in gracefully.

Taking the gloves off, she set them aside, and started repacking her things. Her dress greens went into the bag first, then the scarves and her new spare set of undergarments. She kept the chocolate separate – she didn’t want something to happen to the delicately filled chocolates and end up with chocolate and filling all over her gear.

It didn’t take her long to finish packing. She slid on a new pair of socks and emptied her boot, slipping her dog tags over her head and tucking them against her skin.

“Evelyn, dinner is ready,” said Pierre.

Eve happily went to join the wonderful family for one last meal.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Pierre said from his seat.

Eve smiled. “After today’s adventure, I certainly am.”

Madeleine made an onion soup with bread and cheese on top that Eve devoured. The salty sweetness of the soup and the richness of the cheese settled in Eve’s stomach and made her feel content. She ate greedily, not knowing when she would have the chance to eat real food again.

Conversation was scarce. There was a feeling of finality in the air.

Eve slowed down to savor the last bites, trying to extend the meal just a bit longer, hoping the clock would slow down with her.

But as all things do, the meal finally came to an end.

Pierre took Madeleine’s hand and looked across the table at Eve, more serious than she had ever seen him. Eve wiped her mouth on a napkin, and gave the couple her full attention.

“Evelyn, it has been nothing but a pleasure to have you here. This war…” He couldn’t find the words, and with a cough, gave up trying to sum something so vast and terrible into words. “…but I find myself pleased that it led to meeting you. I hope you have enjoyed your stay a little?”

“More than you can possibly know,” said Eve.

He smiled, crooked and kind. “When this war is over, you must come visit us again.”

“I would love to,” she replied.

“You are welcome any time. Now, we must go soon or you shall miss your train. Are you packed?”

Eve nodded and stood. She took her dishes to the sink and then fetched her bag. She met the family at the door. Madeleine, beautiful in the now setting sun, hugged Eve tightly before kissing each of her cheeks. Louis, looking very sad to see her go, gazed up at her with tear-filled eyes. Eve scooped him up in a fierce hug. When he started to sniffle, she spun him around in a circle, reveling in the giggle it coaxed out of the small boy. She crouched to put him down, smiling at the boy who had led her here, and lightly tapped his button nose.

“ _Au revoir, Louis_ ,” she said. He lit up at hearing her speak his native tongue – despite her dubious accent – and smiled brightly at her, cares easily erased.

“ _Au revoir, Eve_!” he said, using her name for once instead of calling her Joan.

She looked at Pierre and nodded that she was ready. He smiled and held the door for her. They made their way to the train station.

Pierre stayed with her while she bought a one-way ticket back to Mourmelon.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked.

Eve closed her eyes and ran through the list in her head of things she’d wanted to pick up. She’d forgotten to get things for her family back home, but that could wait for another time – she could just as easily find something for them in Reims or on a second trip to Paris. There was no hurry. _What else… shit_ , thought Eve, remembering she’d wanted to pick up some disposable feminine products. There wasn’t canteen water to spare in combat, and rivers and streams were sometimes hard to come by when she needed to clean up her mess. Better to be able to dispose of the things instead.

But she was _not_ going to buy them in front of Pierre.

“I’m all set,” she lied and reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you, Pierre, for everything.”

“You are most welcome.” He took her hand. “I will look forward to seeing you again.”

“Likewise,” she said. She took a moment to try and fix his face, his smile into her mind. She would never forget him.

The bell rang for the train.

Eve stepped onto the car, her small bag of presents in one hand and her duffle bag trussed over her shoulder. She could almost feel the cold of her medal against her breast as she settled into her compartment for the long ride back.

It was uneventful. A few people came and went, but Eve spent the ride staring out the window, watching the war torn countryside roll by, thinking about all that she had seen and done in the last few days and trying not to be overwhelmed.

She stepped off the train in Reims and hurried through picking up her necessities in the one of the small stores in the train station meant to cater to forgetful travelers. She was back on the train with more than enough time to settle back into her seat for the last leg of the journey to Mourmelon.

It was raining heavily when she arrived, but Eve couldn’t feel it through her modified ODs. Once again, she marveled at Madame Bissette’s handiwork.

It was a short walk from the train depot to the base and despite the rain, Eve made good time. She wasn’t in a particular hurry to get inside – the rain wasn’t so bad. She’d gotten used to it. The camp was full of life as bored soldiers tried to keep themselves entertained. She sidestepped a few of the more tipsy celebrators as she made her way back to Easy Company’s Second Platoon barracks.

Liebgott was leaning in the doorway. He looped an arm around her neck when she got close enough.

“Heya, Ev. Long time, no see. Do anything interesting in Paris?”

She pulled away slightly, enough to look at his familiar face. He looked tired.

“No,” she said, thinking back over the trip and knowing she’d never be able to explain it to him properly without embarrassing herself. “Not really.”

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Special thanks to the people who left comments, kudos or bookmarks. I very much appreciate each and every one. Updates every Thursday, so I'll see you all then. 
> 
> P.S. None of the French should be necessary for comprehension of the story above - but please let me know if you would like me to provide translations. Another big thank you to Helianza for helping me with the French translations. If we've missed anything, please let me know?


	26. Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve explores Paris with Pierre. 
> 
>  “It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.” ― William T. Sherman
> 
> Now: Surprises abound and presents are distributed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's this chapter: Atman, FandomlyCroft

-Chapter 26-

The day after Eve got back from Paris, Luz tried to drag her, Frank Perconte, and Skip Muck to the film the USO was putting on in one of the buildings.

“All right, fine, Luz,” said Skip, capitulating. “You win. But I’m not sitting next to you again. How many times have you seen it?”

“Thirteen,” said Luz, sounding thrilled.

“You see,” Skip said to Perconte. “No way am I sitting next to him, and neither will you, Ev, if you wanna actually _see_ the movie.”

Eve laughed, but made no comment. She didn’t have any real desire to see the movie, John Wayne and Marlene Dietrich were all right, but she’d rather read the book she’d picked up in Paris.

It wasn’t looking like she had that option, as Luz enthusiastically led the way to the large, cold building the USO had converted into a movie theater.

They were among the first to arrive and survey the wooden chairs.

Skip waited for Luz to settle in the second row back from the screen before deliberately choosing a seat two rows back from that. Perconte settled next to Skip without comment.

Eve, not wanting to pick sides, settled for the row between the two men, knowing that even if the movie wasn’t entertaining, being caught in the middle certainly would be. To prove her point, Luz immediately started chattering at Skip and Perco through Eve.

She shook her head and bit back another laugh.

A few moments later, Toye and Lipton arrived. Each man gave Eve a nod as they settled together in the front row, right in front of Luz.

Buck Compton snuck in just as the lights were dimming. Other than giving the gathering of Easy Company men a nod, he chose to sit by himself across the aisle, carefully picking a place where all the seats around him were vacant.

Eve thought about relocating to sit next to the Lieutenant but ultimately decided against it. If he’d wanted company, he’d have chosen to sit with them.

Things had been off with Buck since he got back from the hospital, but Eve didn't really blame him for it. She remembered how bad it was at the aid-station in Carentan and she couldn't imagine having to be stranded there for months on end. Besides, Buck had proven that he was still the competent, capable leader he’d always been in that incident she’d been involved with before going to Paris, with the Private from Dog.

She could feel Buck’s blank stare itching between her shoulderblades, and knew he was remembering the incident as well. She didn’t acknowledge him again, knowing that he probably thought he was being discreet.

She’d probably missed out on the worst of their hovering because she’d gone to Paris right in the aftermath, but she noticed the boys were all still keeping a close eye on her. Probably out of some desire to protect her.

It was a sweet sentiment, but completely unnecessary. She was fine.

Really.

As the opening credits started rolling, Eve pulled her thoughts forcefully from the incident and tried to commit as many of the names flashing by to memory as possible.

She resolved to try and enjoy the movie, try to keep her mind off that incident and the clawing thoughts of her uncle’s fate for a few hours.

Even if the movie was a dud, watching Luz try to be quiet for two hours in a theater was bound to be hilarious.

True to her prediction, they were barely past the opening scene when Luz started imitating the actors.

Eve was impressed it took him this long to say something. Luz had been yakking nonstop for most of the film. Then again, they were introducing the female star.

Lipton finally snapped. "I'm tryin'a watch this!” the First Sergeant growled at Luz, dark eyes flashing in the dim room.

The door to the theater opened and shut, letting in the yellow lamp light hanging above the door. Eve turned instinctively, and caught sight of Winters’s red hair as the tall man ducked under the projection of the film. She traced his progress as the man made his way to the seat behind Buck before settling.

Eve turned back to the action in front of her just in time to hear Luz say to Lipton: “I’ve seen this movie thirteen times, all right?” trying to justify his rambling to little effect.

"Well I haven't, so shut up!" said Toye, only turning his head the barest amount to growl back at the radio tech.

The door banged open again. Eve whipped around to see another redhead – Malarkey this time - racing up the aisle. “Hey, Skip!” he shouted, sounding like he’d been hunting Skip down for a while.

Joe shushed the room in general in vain as the Irish man hurtled himself up the row.

Eve turned in time to watch Malark convince the guy next to Perco – whom she didn’t recognize, nor did she remember him coming in at all – to shift over a chair.

"Where you been? I've been looking all over," said Malark, not bothering to keep his volume down.

Eve watched the scene in front of her, wondering idly how Lipton and Toye would react to this newest interruption, trying to suppress a smile as Toye's whole head tilted as he threw his eyes heavenward and he shook his head in despair. He might have been asking for patience, he might have been keeping himself from flying back over the chairs to throttle them, or he might just be trying to keep from screaming in frustration.

Eve bit back a grin. Smiling at the man's pain would have been rude, even if it was far more entertaining than the film.

"Well, Don, I was in Tonawanda, and then Hitler started this whole thing, and now I'm here," said Skip, dry as sand.

Eve hid a laugh with a cough, glad she really wasn’t interested in the movie. The byplay going on around her was far more entertaining as she knew it would be. But still, it was no wonder Toye and Lipton were going out of their minds.

"How'd you make out in craps?" Skip continued, also speaking at a normal volume, completely unconcerned with the promised murder in Toye’s eyes – brave man that he was.

Eve turned a bit to properly watch, and saw the excited set of Malark’s face.

"Not so bad," said Malarkey, counting out bills. "Here's the sixty bucks I borrowed."

"You're paying me back? Surprising." said Skip, taking the money with a stunned expression.

Eve was stunned, too. Everyone knew that money borrowed was money given away as a gift around here. It was seldom that the guy you leant money to repaid you, so Eve found it easier to think of the money as gifts rather than debts. It saved her the resentment if they didn't pay her back, and they often didn't, not that it mattered. There was nothing really to spend the money on anyway.

"And, to say thank you, a tip! Ahh?" Malark said, his voice lit with glee as he forked over another fistful of bills.

"Jesus!" cried Skip as he finally got a load of the sheer volume of bills in Malarkey's hand.

Toye and Lipton had had it. They whipped around to tell the boys to shut up almost in unison.

Eve bit her lip once more to stop laughing. _How on earth had they been able to sit patiently for so long?_

"I was up six grand, but I only got thirty-six hundred left," boasted Malarkey. Either he was ignorant, or crazy because he continued on completely unconcerned that Toye and Lipton were going to be after his head in a moment. Pissing off the NCOs (even if you were an NCO yourself) wasn’t generally a good idea. Lipton might not be mean, but he was creative. Toye was the undisputed “best fighter in Easy Company” for a reason though.

Malark might want to watch out.

"What're you going to do with all that dough?" Perconte asked, getting in on the action after being pulled from his movie watching trance by all the money Malarkey was flashing under his nose.

"Blow most of it in Paris as soon as possible!" said Malark, shoving his remaining bills into his pockets.

"Give me a tip?" demanded Perconte, eyeing Skip's loot.

Eve's shoulders were positively shaking with her suppressed laughter. She forced herself to face forwards and caught Luz watching her with a fond smile.

 _He knows exactly what he’s doing,_ Eve realized, caught off guard by the sentiment. _And he’s doing it on purpose to make me laugh. Well, maybe not_ just _to make me laugh._

Something said on the screen grabbed Luz’s attention and he whipped around. Leaning forward in anticipation, he tapped Lipton on the shoulder, saying “This is my favorite part!”

Eve could tell from the tilt of Toye’s head that he was within a hair’s breadth of leaping over the chair and strangling the lot of them – and she was very impressed with his restraint. Lip crossed his arms – probably intending to ignore the radioman in the hope that Luz would lose interest. Toye maintained no such hope, turning to glare at Luz in an effort to quell the man’s constant stream of chatter with the heat of his gaze alone.

"Got a penny?" said George, trying the accent out. He said it a couple different ways, over and over, putting more emphasis on 'penny' each time. "Got a PEN-NEY?" he said, just before the Marlene Dietrich said her line.

Eve could see why Luz liked the scene; it was a close-up of Dietrich, emphasizing the sly turn of her mouth and the light in her eyes as she asked John Wayne for a penny.

Luz cracked up.

When Lip turned around, decidedly unimpressed, Luz was still laughing as he said, "What?"

As though he hadn't been trying to get Lip to turn around.

Eve huffed another laugh, shoulders and head shaking, a wry twist to her smile.

_Good ‘ole George Luz._

The door to the theater slammed open. The lights flooded on. Two technicians marched up the aisle with their helmets and coats on.

"Hey, come on!" Skip cried.

"You can't do that to the Duke!" said Luz.

"I said quiet!" barked the Technician as he mounted the stage and turned to face the room. “Elements of the 1st and 6th Panzer Division have broken through in the Ardennes forest. Now they’ve overrun the 28th Infantry and elements of the 4th. All officers, report to respective HQs. All passes are canceled."

Eve stood up immediately. Her heart lodged in her throat.

 _What happened to March?_ she thought. _I have to pack. I have to get my squad packed. Jesus Christ, it’s the middle of winter!_

She wasn’t the only one having an extreme reaction as the crowd around her cried “No!” in frustrated denial.

Skip Muck threw himself dramatically back in his chair as she started up the aisle, her brain pulling her in several different directions at once. There was a lot to do and not much time to do it.

Pausing, she thought, _I should wait for Lipton. He'll have orders._

"Enlisted men, report to barracks and your platoon leaders!" the Technician barked. She got out of his way as he and his aide strode up the aisle.

"Man, what a day," said Skip as he passed her.

"Unbelievable," Perconte muttered.

Eve waited by the door as Toye and Luz to left together, apparently back to being friends because Toye was asking Luz for a light.

Lipton finally caught up, one of the very last to leave.

“Ev,” the First Sergeant greeted her. “I need to know what your squad has and what they need before we go.”

“How long do we have?”

“No idea. Best hurry.”

“You got it, sir.”

Eve followed the man out, scanning the room for stragglers. The only people left were Lieutenant Compton and Winters, who was waiting for Buck to stand.

Winters would take care of Buck. Eve needed to take care of her squad.

It was going to be a long night.

-

The 101st had twenty-four hours to get their gear assembled before they had to be on the trucks to meet the Germans. Every moment was precious, and there was so much to do. Usually the 101st had days, weeks, to get everything squared away for a mission. Caught off guard and on the defensive, they didn’t have the luxury of time.

Their winter gear hadn’t arrived. Everyone was scrambling for more clothes. They weren’t going to have a Christmas after all. Eve thanked God – and Pierre – that she’d managed to go to Paris when she did, for the simple fact that none of the clothes available would have fit her at all. Gratitude struck her anew as, unworried about herself, Eve had more time to help her boys find gear.

On her way to the supply office, she passed a knot of replacements griping.

“These sleeping bags aren’t any good!” she heard one replacement complain to a buddy. She didn’t recognize him at all. He must be one of the newest batch – she hadn’t gotten to know everybody yet.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, breaking into the conversation unapologetically.

“Uh,” he stuttered for a moment before composing himself. “Well, we had these sleeping bags up in the Blue Ridge Mountains for training, but anything lower than 35 degrees and they’re no good. I was gonna stitch my blanket into the bag to try and get a little more out of it.”

Eve eyed the blanket – another precious commodity – and made a decision. “Good idea. Do it, all of you. Get everyone you meet to do it too.”

“Yes, sir; I mean, ma’am!” he said, saluting her.

It was another sign that he was new – most of the boys who’d been on the front didn’t bother with saluting – especially not to an NCO – when there were other more important things to be doing.

She saluted him back, and hurried off.

She had a lot of sewing to do and no time to do it. She hoped her sewing kit was still intact somewhere.

“Liebgott!” she called, catching sight of the man from across the way.

He turned around and waited for her to catch up.

“What’s the news, Sarge?”

“German’s broke through the line, they’re pushing hard and the boys up there are taking a battering. Sink wants us on the move yesterday. How are we looking for supplies?”

“Not good,” said Liebgott. “Nobody’s got winter boots, we’ve got three winter coats for every four guys, and we’ve got almost no ammo.”

Eve cursed. “Okay. Keep working on the winter clothes. We’re no good to anyone if we freeze to death. Word is that the sleeping bags are no good, get someone on sewing a blanket into all of the sleeping bags you can get your hands on – hopefully that will be enough, but we’ve got no idea how cold it’s going to be out there and we’re heading north. If you can, get a count on the K-rations we’ve got, and medkits.” She thought a minute, and then asked, “Am I missing something?”

“Jesus Christ. I’m sure we’ll think of it if you are,” said Lieb.

“Okay, remember more is more. If there’s a question – and you can manage to carry it – bring it along. We have no idea how long we’ll be out there, best to make sure we’ve got everything we need now because there’s no telling when we’ll be resupplied.”

“I got it, Ev,” said Lieb. He grabbed her forearm to focus her attention. “Everything will be fine. Stop worrying.”

“I can’t help but worry, Lieb. It’s in my nature.”

-

Eve made sure to distribute her presents of scarves and chocolate to the boys and free up the space in her bags.

Christmas was coming early for Easy Company. There'd be no time for it later.

She left the gifts draped across the boy’s racks, but she doubted any of them would actually get to sleep in them before they had to go.

Only an hour after she’d left them out, and already on another task, Guarnere found her. She’d snuck him a bonus present, something she hadn’t given any of the other boys – a carton of cigarettes straight from her bribe stash – because she was glad to see him back on the line. She could smell the smoke on him as he draped an arm around her shoulders and ran his knuckles through her hair. “Thanks for the scarf, doll.”

“Get off, you hooligan!” She blushed and wriggled to get out of his hold. “See if I give you presents again!”

He laughed and let her go.

“Did you try the chocolate?”

“One or two pieces,” he admitted.

“You didn’t eat the whole box, did you?”

“Nah,” he denied. “I got a few saved for a rainy day.”

Eve smiled, remembering eating far too many chocolates in Paris. “That’s probably for the best.”

He laughed. “So, tell me how we’re looking?” he said, getting back to business.

Eve took a deep breath, and told her Platoon Sergeant the progress her squad had made so far, and what else she needed to do.

-

Eve was still scrambling an hour before they were headed out.

She’d had her boys scour the whole of Mourmelon for supplies – anything not nailed down was fair game to take along – the camp could be resupplied at leisure, but Eve had no such guarantees for Easy Company.

She wanted to make sure every scrap of supplies available to them came along. Especially when it came to ammo and med kits – which they were universally short of.

After Holland and D-Day, Eve had learned that her mother's adage: "Always over prepare, it's better to have it and not need it, than it is to need it and not have it," held far more truth here than she had anticipated. If over preparing meant they had to carry extra weight a little farther, well, at least on the front lines it was almost guaranteed they’d use it eventually.

An hour before they were ready to go, it was dark, and snowing. It as though Mother Nature and Father Winter had conspired to make the trip as difficult as possible for the 101st.

Eve still felt cold, despite wearing the ODs Madame Bissette had tailored for her and coat someone had found for her. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and slid on the leather gloves. She wished she had a hat, but her helmet would have to do. At least she had a few, good pairs of socks – it was more than a lot of guys had. She wondered if she could sneak her spare pairs into the packs of the men who were short.

And they were short – even after twenty-four hours to prepare.

There wasn’t enough ammo to go around. There wasn’t enough warm clothing. There wasn’t even enough food.

The Germans had caught the Allies with their pants down, and they were going to hammer their way all the way back to Paris if they weren’t stopped – maybe even all the way back to the sea, God forbid. No one thought the Krauts had anything left to give. Everyone was expecting a Christmastime surrender. There was no indication anywhere that Hitler would have enough supplies, let alone enough men to pull off a counterattack of this scale. Word had it that the Nazi’s were throwing in everything they had.

It all added up.

Easy Company was marching into a disaster.

There was nothing more she could do. And it was killing her inside.

Eve felt like one of the lucky ones. She’d prepared for the cold, even if she only had a handful of ammunition suited for her M1. She filled a couple spare musette bags with all the bullets she could find, whether they fit her M1 or not – surely someone would be able to use it – but she still couldn’t find much.

“Ev!” cried Liebgott from the door of the barracks. “Come on.”

“Yeah!” she called, grabbing her helmet and slinging her assortment of musette bags over her shoulders.

She slammed the helmet on and smiled at Lieb as she slipped by him to get out the door.

He grinned back and closed the door behind her.

It didn’t take the two of them long to find the trucks. Guarnere waved them over, but Eve still needed to find Gene – and Winters, Welsh, and Nixon (whom she’d purchased scarves and chocolate for, but couldn’t leave in their barracks for obvious reasons) to give them their Christmas presents from Paris.

“I’ll meet you there,” she said.

“Don’t take too long,” cautioned Liebgott.

She smiled and darted through the still rushing stragglers.

Winters was easy to spot. A calm presence in the middle of the chaos.

“Sir!” she called.

He smiled when he saw her.

She pulled out the musette bag she’d sacrificed to hold the trio of scarves and boxes of chocolates for the officers, and passed them over.

“What’s this?” he asked, puzzled.

“Merry Christmas, sir,” she said. She watched him open the bag, feeling nervous as he examined the contents. “Or it would’ve been, I think. I know it’s not much, but the scarf should at least keep you warm. There’s one for Nixon and Welsh in there too.”

He looked at the bounty with bemusement. “Thank you, Eve,” he said with sincerity.

She blushed. “You’re welcome, sir.”

He put on the scarf. “I’ll make sure Nix and Welsh get theirs.”

“Thank you, sir.”

"Sir?" called Lieutenant Peacock from behind them.

"Lieutenant Peacock?" Winters acknowledged the man.

"Sir? Have you seen Colonel Strayer?"

"Where's your Company Commander?" Winters asked in turn, probably wondering why Peacock was jumping up the ranks so far to get that information.

"Oh, Lieutenant Dike? I've been looking for him all day. I mean, how is it that the 4th Army's problem gets dumped on the Airborne?" asked Peacock, leading the group – which Eve had subconsciously joined, feeling nosy – up the line of idling trucks.

He led them to an oil drum alight with a merry fire. Eve, feeling generous for the warmth, pulled out one of her spare chocolate boxes (from the stash she was originally planning to keep for herself before the Krauts ruined Christmas) and gave it to the lieutenant.

He accepted it with a soft smile and continued his tirade.

Lieutenant Compton joined them as well, and Eve smiled to see that he was wearing his scarf already. Winters was wrapping his own around his neck even as he listened to Peacock’s laments.

Buck, who’d easily caught the gist of the conversation, started to answer Peacock's obviously rhetorical question, when the man of the hour arrived, walking quickly.

"Lieutenant Peacock, Lieutenant Compton, Captain Winters," said Dike, giving Winters a quick salute.

"Oh, Lieutenant Dike. I've been looking for you," said Winters idly.

He was cut off by the flustered Lieutenant before he could specify _why_ he'd been looking for the wandering man. "Sir, we have a problem," said Dike, unaware – or perhaps uncaring – that he was being extremely rude. "Colonel Strayer has not yet returned from some wedding that he's attending in London. Can you believe that? We're going to the front, we're going to the front here, and our CO isn't even in the same damn country!"

Eve refrained from giving him any chocolate. She wondered if he remembered who he was talking to. Winters was the man who took control of the Company from an absent CO and gotten the job done on D-Day.

"You have a bigger problem, Lieutenant Dike," Winters informed the man. "You have men returning to action without proper cold weather clothing and not enough ammo."

"Sir?" Dike seemed confused about why Winters was reprimanding him.

Eve wasn't. The man was worried about the completely wrong thing.

_He needs to get his nose out of the political side of warfare and actually start focusing on the practicalities of it, before he gets us all killed._

Winters wasn't finished. "I suggest you take a canvass of the entire base. Get what materials you have before we roll out. Or have you done that already?"

Dike wilted under Winters disapproval. "No, sir."

"K-rations. As many as you can scrounge. We don't know if we'll be resupplied or not."

Eve – who just now realized second platoon might be the only one aware of the shortages of food due to Dike’s inexperience – grabbed the arm of a passing soldier, whispering Winters’s instructions and telling him to spread the word, something she was sure Winters caught.

"Yes, sir," said Dike but made no move to do anything. Winters hadn't dismissed him yet.

"What about ammo?" asked Peacock.

"There is no more ammo," announced Winters. "Distribute it amongst the men as best you can, so at least everybody has something."

"Yes, sir," said Dike, finding his feet now that Winters attention was off him. "Lieutenant Compton, Lieutenant Peacock, inform Lieutenant Shames of the situation. Get all your platoons as best equipped as you can, and then report back here to me, understood?"

 _So Dike actually does understand a responsibility of leadership: delegation_. Eve bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes in frustration. The platoon leaders had their own things to worry about, and now Dike had just dumped more on them. But, as she'd learned, in the military shit rolls downhill. Dike was in trouble, thus Compton, Shames, and Peacock were in trouble.

"Yes, sir," said Peacock as he and Buck fell out to look after the Platoons.

"Captain," Buck replied – a tacit agreement to go along with the man – as he too drifted away.

Winters dismissed Dike with a nod.

Alone again in the sea of people, he turned back to Eve. “Thank you for the scarves,” he said again.

“I’m glad I thought of it,” she said, remembering her excursion into Madame Bissette’s shop briefly before setting the thoughts aside and turned back to business. “Second Platoon was already on the hunt for K-rations. I’ll tell the boys to pass them around. If we’re low on rations, sir, we should probably be stocking up on medical supplies too. It didn’t sound like we’re getting a resupply anytime soon.”

“Probably not,” Winters agreed with a sigh. “Good thinking, Sergeant. See what you can do.”

She saluted him and then hurried off to go raid the aid station for bandages and morphine, and the first aid kits off the wounded guys who still had one stashed in their pocket.

Mourmelon was not a hospital. The aid station was more suited for pulled muscles than bullet wounds. Still, she managed to find about thirty kits. She stuffed everything the medics could spare besides the kits – which she was taking whether they liked it or not – and packed them into a box with spare bandages and plasma drips. It was heavy, but she managed to haul it back to the truck housing Second Platoon by herself.

She handed over the medical supplies to Weston and Sooth with quick instructions on how to stow it properly.

“Liebgott, Jackson,” she called when she’d finished.

The two men pulled away from the mingling soldiers around the trucks where they were probably mining for information and met her.

She led the two boys away from the group, waiting to give an explanation. She’d picked them because they were in her squad, and she trusted them implicitly. Hunger was probably one of the only things that would spook the hardened soldiers of Easy Company into a panic.

“We’re short on rations,” she confided. “Real short. I need you to go get everything you can find. Steal it if you have to. We’re on a deadline.”

They hurried off.

She didn’t know how they managed it – she didn’t bother asking, she didn’t truly want to know – but somehow they came back with a box of rations each.

Eve knew that even such a large quantity would probably only feed her squad – only her squad mind – for a few days, but every little bit helped. It would be lean pickings for a while. They'd distribute everything more thoroughly across the Company once they got to wherever they ended up.

She ran through the list of necessities in her mind again, putting a hand over her mouth to hide the frown as she realized again that they were hideously short.

“Mount up!” someone up the line bellowed.

 _Time’s up,_ thought Eve. _Nothing for it now._

“Ev!” cried Liebgott, leaning out of one of the trucks. “Stop daydreaming!”

“Coming!” she said, as the first truck in the convoy started moving.

Guarnere and Liebgott helped her into the back of the truck, each man grabbing one of her hands and all but hauled her into the back.

She tried not to step on anyone. There was a bench on either side of the truck bed. A loose canopy was draped over the sides and roof that did absolutely nothing to keep the chill out. As the truck rumbled to life and jerked beneath her feet, Eve shivered in the draft.

The boys packed into the floor scooted around until there was room between Malarkey and Skip Muck for Eve to sit, snugly sharing a bit of the boy’s warmth. With Toye at her back, and Guarnere (still at the door) and Babe Hefferon flanking her, it was as close to comfortable as she was going to get in the damn thing.

It took less than ten minutes bouncing down the road, freezing despite being ensconced by hot-blooded soldiers for Eve to decide that she didn't like riding in the trucks, at all. In fact, she would almost prefer to walk. Almost.

The farther north they went, the colder it got.

Eve hunkered down into her jacket, once again desperately glad for her lined ODs. Her gloves, though fitted to her hands, were stiff with the cold as she tucked her fingers up under her armpits.

She loathed being cold.

Buck, who was sitting opposite Bill near the door, looked back at the line of trucks, incredulous. "I guess the blackout's not in effect. Luftwaffe must be asleep."

Eve was too cold to give much more than a puff of a laugh. Certainly too cold to speak her thoughts aloud.

_Blackout orders must not apply when the Krauts know we’re coming. It’s not like we’re exactly trying to be covert here. A blind man couldn’t miss us. If the Germans didn’t know we were on our way to meet them, they do now._

"Christ," said Bill behind her, obviously trying to control his chattering teeth. "I miss those C-47s."

"Got a tailgate jump here," said Tab, being a smartass just because he could.

"I just wanna know where they're sending us. What the hell we're supposed to do with no ammo," said Babe Heffron, his words tumbling out of his mouth so quickly it was like he was trying to force them out before the words froze in the air.

"Hey, kid," said Bill, looking across the truck to where a replacement – _It’s the kid who told me about the sleeping bags,_ Eve thought recognizing him – was lighting Popeye Wynn's cigarette. "What's your name again?"

"Suerth," said the kid, warily but half in awe. He was the only replacement in the truck. "Suerth, Jr."

"You got any ammo, Junior?" Babe asked.

Eve understood his persistence – she felt naked without her usual overabundance of ammo – but Babe had asked that question at least four times already, and of everyone. The answer was always the same, what people had – they needed. There was nothing to spare.

Suerth smiled uncertainly as suddenly the attention of the entire truck focused entirely on him. He probably hadn’t realized that he’d managed to be the lone replacement (baring Babe, who didn’t count) in a truck that held most of the Toccoa guys. It was obvious to Eve that the kid admired the veterans a lot, thought they were heroes. It was all over his face. "Just what I'm carrying," he answered.

"What about socks, Junior? You got extra socks?" asked Toye.

"A pair."

"You need four minimum," said Muck, half scolding half educating. "Feet, neck, hands, balls –"

"Extra socks warms them all!" the rest of the truck finished with him.

"Okay, we remember that one!" said Muck pleased, "but did we remember the socks?"

Bill grumbled. "Give my goddamn boots for a cigarette."

Eve was sitting right at his feet, on a stockpile of cigarettes, but didn't say anything. She wasn’t an idiot – volunteering the information would be akin to kissing the stockpile goodbye. And she'd just given him a pack a couple hours ago, the liar. _No way he's smoked twenty cigarettes already._

The truck delved into a cacophony of sound as everyone tried to say what they needed but didn't have: socks, ammo, cigarettes, clothes, and food.

"How 'bout a hat?" asked Lieb, who was sitting on Malarkey's left. "You got a hat, Junior?"

"Hey, you got extra ammo?" Skip asked Eve.

She gave him a frosty glare – cold, and irritable, and in no mood for stupid questions – and said, "No."

"What about a coat? Gotta coat?" Lieb persisted, asking the truck in general rather than an individual.

"Shut up with the coat, Liebgott, no one's got one!" said Skip.

"How 'bout some smokes then?" Seurth's neighbor asked.

Frustrated with not having been able to provide any of the supplies they'd asked for, Seurth foolishly offered up his smokes to the lions waiting to pounce on the offering.

Suddenly, every single hand was out and reaching to get one of the precious smokes off the kid.

Eve rolled her eyes and tried to become smaller and preserve some more warmth. She closed her eyes and tried to block them out.

Toye nudged her with his knee, and Eve looked up to see him holding out a cigarette for her.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Eve smiled, and added it to her stash.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Malarkey said softly.

“I don’t,” she answered with a wink.

He shook his head, looking baffled.

Eve laughed quietly and thanked Toye. She closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep with each bump and lump in the road bouncing Eve head first into the wooden boards lining the truck.

Just as she was about to nod off, she heard shouting outside as the truck veered off the road. Within a few moments, the truck slammed to a stop. It took a bit of shuffling as the boys started to stiffly get out one by one. Toye and Babe helped Eve unfold so she could get to her feet and hop out.

It had been about twelve hours since they’d left Mourmelon. Everything hurt, and she was desperate for a bathroom.

She hit the ground just before Popeye barreled his way out of the truck. He stumbled to the side, already fumbling with his pants and hollering at the men trying to coax him towards the fires already drawing Eve like a moth. Apparently, he’d been holding it a while.

Eve wished she could say that this kind of thing was an isolated incident, but the honest truth was that at one point or another she’d probably been exposed to each and every one of the men of Easy Company. She was completely desensitized to it. It was completely normal, and yes, still completely disgusting. She didn't make a fuss of it though and instead walked out until she found a small corpse of trees, used to occasionally having to hold her bladder for hours past desperation. It was easy for guys to just step off the road. Eve needed privacy to do her business.

When she came back, some genius had decided to empty gasoline canisters into holes in the ground and dump whole books of lit matches into them, creating quick and dirty bonfires for the men to huddle around them. These fires wouldn't last for long, but Eve was determined to enjoy them while they did.

It was freezing outside. Eve felt like her nose was going to fall off, and buried it in her scarf, trying not to shiver out of her boots – even as the snow beneath her shoes was trying to sneak in through the cracks.

Movement caught Eve’s eyes. She turned and lost what little breath the cold hadn’t already stolen from her.

There was a line of troops coming their way. They were Americans, that much was plain, but they were going the wrong way. It took a moment for Eve to understand why.

_Walking wounded._

Young looking boys – likely replacements – who looked like they’d just seen the dark depths of hell – and been spit back out.

And they were draped with ammo.

Eve focused on the ammo, and ignored the bloody bandages on each and every one of the boys heading towards her.

She waded through the line, liberating ammunition from everyone she met. When she got more than she could carry, she dumped it into some other guy’s hands.

It didn’t take long for the boy to follow her lead.

“Aid kits,” Eve remembered. “You boys got any aid kits to spare? What about rations?”

She got considerably less aid kits than she did ammo, but from the wounds she was seeing, that wasn’t unexpected. She got some rations, but not as many as she hoped. She dumped what she’d found to the side, focusing on getting more rather than trying to store what she’d already gathered.

She liberated them of everything she could think of, all but demanding the retreating boys empty their pockets. If she didn't think they were going to be walking for quite some time yet, she might have liberated a few of their warm gear as well. Ammo was the priority. She didn’t want to have nothing when the Germans came knocking.

She didn't bother asking why these battered boys were retreating where the Airborne was going in. It was just how things went. She was almost ashamed that the boys were running. Easy Company would never have run away. “Stand your ground,” Winters would’ve said, and by God, Easy Company wouldn’t have tucked tail to run.

By some miracle, Winters found a jeep loaded down with ammo. It was a miracle they sorely needed. It wasn’t enough to fully supply Easy Company, let alone the whole of the 506, but it was better than nothing.

Eve helped distribute what ammo she, and the other boys, had gathered evenly amongst the men. She hoped the metal wasn’t cold enough to stick to her skin as she draped a belt of .42 cal bullets around her neck.

It wasn’t long before the word came down. They were defending the crossroads town of Bastogne. It had seven roads in and out of town and a railroad. The Krauts could use the roads to seize the seaport at Antwerp. If the Krauts took those roads, it would be a disaster.

Freezing, Easy Company double timed it, neat in their columns as they raced to set up the MLR – main line of defense – short on supplies, short on winter clothes, and short on food. It was what they'd trained for. Eve gritted her teeth together as they tried to chatter and shiver, the wind slicing through her clothes like a razor as she walked onwards.

In the distance, they could see the flashing lights of a major battle, artillery recoil illuminating the skyline. Eve had become too desensitized to flinch at the sound – by the time you heard the shell it was too late to do anything about it anyway.

It didn’t take Easy long to reach the town of Bastogne – a beautiful town, torn to shambles, utterly destroyed by the revenging beast of war.

They marched onwards. About a mile and a half to outside of Bastogne, the 506 settled into the woods east of Bastogne – the Bois Jacques – ferreting out pockets of German resistance as they went along, forcing the Krauts out back as they set up a perimeter to defend the town at all cost.

Already, before they’d dug their first foxhole into the frozen earth, Eve knew this was nothing like Holland or France. There was evidence all around of one hell of a fight. The ground was pocked with craters from 88s, spent shell casings and tree limbs littering the soil, dead GIs, and limbs – an arm here, a leg there, blood and guts. It was a gory nightmare.

Some of the new boys stopped to puke their guts out. Eve had been in combat long enough to be suddenly grateful for the cold that kept the stench of death away.

The destruction could only mean that trouble was coming. There wasn’t much time.

Winters set up outposts just behind the tree-line. Easy Company dug in about thirty to forty feet behind them, deep in the woods, and tucked HQ behind that MLR. The 501st, who’d been the first on the scene, had already dug in on their right flank. Intelligence came down that they had some units from the 10th Armored, (Team Cherry and Team Desiree) who were stationing themselves in the town to be deployed as needed on the line.

They spread out, lining their foxholes as evenly as possible, digging through the solid ground with more determination than success. They were pretty spread out; there was a lot of ground to cover.

No one knew what was going on. Not Guarnere, not Compton, no one.

Eve spread out her men, and settled in to wait.

The Krauts were coming.

Easy Company was not leaving Bastogne.

They’d spent two months retreating under Montgomery in Market Garden. They were not going to retreat now.

Bastogne was going to hold.

It had to hold.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posts every Thursday. Thanks for reading! And all the amazing Kudos!


	27. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: The Germans launch their surprise attack on the Allies and Easy Company scrambles to get into position. 
> 
> "One of the things you do, you lie down on your side and bring your knees up. And you’d be paired with another guy who is facing you so your knees would go into his stomach and your head around his head. You have two people in the womb position taking advantage of that position to preserve body heat and life." — Sgt Ed Stewart of the 84th Infantry Division, on how he and his men kept warm during the Battle of the Bulge
> 
> Now: Easy Company holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful Betas: Atman and FandomlyCroft both worked really hard on this chapter. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 27-

They’d been in Bastogne for two days. Two days of biting cold, impenetrable fog, and never ending snow.

The Germans cut the road behind them, completely surrounding the 101st on all sides. While Easy Company had managed to dig in on a hill, vaguely covered by a forest of pine trees, the Germans still had the high ground and shelter, positioning themselves in the houses and churches of the surrounding towns for a far better vantage point.

Initially, Easy Company sent out patrols trying to determine what they were up against. They knew the Krauts had taken the town of Foy, only about three or four football fields away from the edge of the woods Easy Company was using for cover. And that they’d taken their initial goal of Noville before Easy Company had even arrived.

They repelled the Krauts attempts to break their lines almost constantly as the Germans probed the Allied position for weakness. Easy Company did their share of fighting – but they couldn’t do much more than hold on and bear the brunt of the assault.

It would be quiet, almost peaceful, and suddenly a quick firefight would break out, it would be over just as quick, with the only evidence of it ever happening being the men screaming for medics.

Everyone waited on baited breath for the Krauts to start shelling their position again, and shell them they did. They had a new, terrifying weapon that they favored - the boys called them Screaming Minis – it was like six rockets together, screeching so loudly in the quiet that it pierced your ears before it hit. The men couldn’t walk or stand together for fear that one shell would take all of them out at once. It didn’t take long for Easy Company to learn: if everybody was heading somewhere – like the mess tent – they staggered themselves into groups of two or three. It was something anyone who’d seen one of those shells hit a bunch of their buddies did.

Eve lost Weston and Sooth to a Screaming Mini only hours after they’d dug in. After that, she enforced the staggering rule rigorously.

The Germans were relentless. They kept probing, searching for a weak point in the line to shatter the whole defense.

Command constantly shifted men and what limited weaponry they had – everything from the armored unit and their tanks (who had by some benevolent act of God had managed to get tucked behind the lines with them), to MG-.42s and M-1s, to actual ammunition – to fill the gaps in the already thin perimeter line and support the besieged sections. What meager supplies they had was spread sparingly between all of the defenders, each unit borrowing what they desperately needed from everyone else, and everyone gave all they had so someone else might get what they needed to hold the Krauts off just a bit longer. Eve saw the same guns rotate into and out of the company again and again as they repelled the Germans on their portion of the line.

Nobody thought about giving up. Everyone knew what retreating cost them in Market Garden – and Eve at least was determined to never retreat again.

They just had to be sparing – had to be cautious and keep holding on – but Eve reckoned they cost the Krauts a lot of men trying to break their lines, and that was worth the hardship.

But they were still getting hammered and not just by the Germans.

The abominable weather was like a second enemy.

The fog rendered air support and resupply impossible. Every time Command tried to call in for supplies, the drop would miss them and hit the Germans. Easy Company could see the Kraut’s antiaircraft guns going from all four sides of them, firing at any Allied planes bold or desperate enough to try to fly in the atrocious weather and provide support for the besieged men on the ground.

It was minus five degrees Fahrenheit; it was constantly snowing.

Most of the boys didn’t have warm clothes, just what they’d been able to throw together, but even the boys who did have some warm things were cold – even Eve, who’d taken some precautions against the weather, was still shaking and shivering in her padded ODs.

It was like sitting in a freezer. But, their limited body warmth melted the snow, so it was actually like sitting in a freezer while soaking wet.

There were no fires. Every time someone tried to light one, the Krauts used the light to zero their heavy guns on Easy Company’s position. They weathered the artillery barrages in their half dug foxholes. No fires meant there was no warmth, no way to melt the frozen water in their canteens, no way to warm what little food they had. Thirst was setting in. Hunger was an old friend.

The cold turned the ground into concrete. Some of the guys resorted to using grenades to soften the dirt enough for their entrenching tools. Getting deep enough for sufficient cover was nearly impossible.

Nobody slept. The Germans liked to shell the woods with mortars at night. The more guys Easy Company lost to the shells, the less they slept and the more guys were put on watch – until no one felt comfortable sleeping at all. It was no sleep, and constant stress, wearing on them all until they were thin shades of the soldiers they’d been before Bastogne.

Dante said that deepest pit of hell – the home of Lucifer himself – was a frozen wasteland.

Bastogne was hell on earth.

Eve, as a sergeant, was in charge of waking the guys up and getting them to the outpost. The rotation on the outpost was every two hours, so at least she could get up and move a bit – not that it helped much.

There was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the cold or the front lines. They were staying, come hell or high water. They couldn’t let the Germans break through.

Somebody said, “They got us surrounded, the poor bastards.”

It became a slogan, a whispered kind of prayer that was repeated so often no one really knew who’d said it first.

-

It was snowing again, a light dusting instead of the big, fat flakes of yesterday.

Eve slid into her foxhole, hiked her shoulders up to her ears, wedged her hands up under her armpits, and settled in, watching the line. Her foxhole buddy, Guarnere, was out patrolling the lines and checking on the rest of the platoon so she was alone.

It got dark really fast here. Eve was disappointed she couldn't see the stars, but then, it was almost fitting that something that would have made this miserable place more bearable was absent. This place was so wretched it didn't deserve anything beautiful to redeem it. It would have felt mocking rather than wonderful, and Eve wanted to always enjoy the stars.

She heard footsteps behind her and whirled, gun raised. It was Roe. He raised his hands in surrender, a smirk on his lips as he crouched next to her foxhole.

"Ev," he said still smiling. His soft, Louisianan lilt cutting the silence and leaving something gentler in its place. "I heard you might've grabbed some aid kits on our way in?"

"Yeah," said Eve fishing around under her blanket for the pack she'd shoved them in. "I grabbed all I could when we left Mourmelon and from those guys we passed on our way in. Did we already go through the crate from the aid station?" she asked as she dug for the kits. She upended her pack, dumping all of her smaller bags and the other contents into the snow. Sure enough, near the top of the pile were five or six aid kits with their precious morphine and bandages.

Roe picked them up reverently and put them in his own pack as he answered. “I haven’t seen it.”

Eve cursed. It was bad news, but not entirely unexpected. Ideally, Roe would have had is pick of the supplies, but bandages were desperately needed everywhere. She wasn’t surprised they’d been transferred out and about with the guns.

"How are you fixed for smokes?" she asked, pulling a pack from her stockpile. Cigarettes provided a pseudo warming sensation, like breathing in fire instead of tobacco and were worth more than gold – not that gold was worth anything out here.

"I won't say no if you've got some to share," he hedged.

Eve tossed him a pack.

"I'm glad you're with us, Ev,” he said, tucking the smokes away.

"You're just saying that 'cause I gave you smokes," she accused with a smile.

"No," said Roe with his quiet sincerity.

Eve didn't know what to say, so she changed the subject. "You got any water, Gene?" she asked, eyeing the two canteens he had on his belt with poorly disguised longing.

He followed her eyes and didn't even hesitate in pulling the one he kept for drinking loose and handing it over.

She was surprised that the water was still water and not on big ice block but she was too thankful to wonder why. Eve took a few sips of the frigid water, just enough to wet her parched throat, and gave it back, awash with gratitude. She knew how precious water was when they couldn't start a fire to get more. "Thanks," she said, already repacking her things.

Gene nodded and watched her shove the assorted supplies into her bag, abandoning the care for organization as she had off the line: where the most important things – the things she couldn’t afford to lose – would go in first and the things she needed on hand went in last. Eve just wanted to keep what she could out of the snow before they got encrusted with the stuff or froze together. She'd sort it out later. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time.

-

 _How long has she been carrying all that_? Roe wondered, marveling at the sheer quantity of items going back into Ev’s pack. She had probably scrounged – and then kept – enough supplies for a general store. There wasn’t much rhyme or reason to it that he could discern. If he had to guess, she’d just grabbed everything in reach and brought it along.

"You got a kitchen sink in there too, Ev?" he asked with a teasing smile.

Ev barked a short laugh even as she flipped him off. "Shut it, Gene. You weren't complaining a minute ago."

"Sure 'nough," he said, voice tinged with amusement. He considered the plethora of items disappearing back into her pack again and decided to ask. There was another thing he _sorely_ needed apart from aid kits. And Ev was like as not to have a spare as anyone else. Knowing just how unlikely it was that she would, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any scissors, would ya?"

Ev paused, brow furrowed, before upending the bag once more and digging through the smattering of supplies. She wasn’t having the same tough time some of the other skinnier guys were having – Roe had already prioritized getting the littler guys coats because they just didn’t have as much insulation, but Ev had stubbornly passed, making sure he’d managed to find coats for everyone else in her platoon first.

Sometimes, the woman was more stubborn than Guarnere and Winters put together, and twice the headache.

Gene sank back down on his haunches while she looked. He felt a little bad about not thinking to ask earlier as he saw her spare bra and feminine hygiene products careless rooted through and discarded into the reject pile in the snow.

Ev looked cold. She was actually wearing the coat he’d eventually insisted on – the third he’d actually given her after finding the first two on men who he hadn’t got to yet – that was good, and somehow she’d found a blanket. The gloves she was wearing looked like leather, which meant they were less likely to shred on the cold gunmetal of her M-1. She’d kept one of her scarves for herself (his was wrapped around his own neck) and tucked it around her head under her helmet.

Despite all that, she was shivering.

It was worrying, and Roe filed it away with all the other concerns he had for the men under his charge.

Ev finally pulled a small box free, brushing off the snow with poorly hidden triumph before popping open the case. "I'm not sure how much use they'll be,” she said, pulling out the smallest scissors Gene had ever seen with a cheeky grin. “But you're welcome to them until you find something better.”

He blinked, dumbfounded at their pathetic size, and she laughed at his expression. They would be better than nothing, but he wasn't sure if they'd be worth the hassle trying to cut through a man's clothing, seeing as they were barely as long as his pinky finger, the blade only half that length.

"Sorry, Gene," she said, still laughing at him. "Best I can do."

"Better than nothing," he said, trying to feign that he was upset she was laughing at him. He wasn’t. Mostly, he was relieved. There was precious little to laugh about in these woods.

He tucked the scissors into his breast pocket, and watched his friend repack her bag for the second time. "Do you know where Lieutenant Dike is? Heard he might have his aid kit."

"Last I heard he was behind the line, a little further towards Dog."

"Thanks," he said, getting up with a nod.

"Hey, Gene?" she said.

He paused, turning back to her to catch her smile.

"Let me know if you run short on cigarettes, all right?"

He smiled, indulgently – planning to do no such thing. “Yeah, okay. You got a buddy, Ev?"

"Guarnere's walkin' the line. He’ll be back soon."

Roe nodded. "Keep warm, Ev," he said. "I'll see if I can't find an extra blanket somewhere."

He gave her a smile and trotted off to find their absentee leader before she could protest.

-

Eve cursed as Gene raced out of hearing range.

Noise discipline kept her from yelling after him, but she was sorely tempted to do it anyway.

(She would never ignore noise discipline again. Not after the disaster in Holland. Alley was back from the hospital – sharing with Liebgott if she wasn’t mistaken – but Eve doubted she'd ever forget having to carry his limp body into that barn.)

She couldn’t believe Gene – who had so much else on his mind – had noticed that she and Guarnere only had one blanket to share between them.

What few blankets and sleeping bags left in the company, rotated between foxholes with the watch. Some guys went without, particularly when it was their turn in the OP so that the guys trying to get some rest could have two for all the meager warmth they provided.

It was something at least.

Because of Pierre and Madame Bissette, Eve knew she was a lot better off than the majority of the guys – it was why she’d refused a coat for so long. Most of men had been short changed warm clothes too – Eve's ODs weren’t the only pair that hadn't fit. The sizes distributed to them in Mourmelon were the same as the ones they'd been issued upon entering the Army. Most of them had lost a lot of weight since then, Eve included. Two sizes too big was average.

And with the supply lines backed up, it was a lucky man who had coat, scarf, socks, and gloves as she did. Some had three of that, but more only had two, and most of that because of their very persistent medic and officers. Some poor bastards were still in the same three layers of cotton fit for summer maneuvers despite it being mid-December. Most had gotten either a warm wool shirt or a coat in Mourmelon, but they'd been having supply issues even before being called to the front, and there hadn’t been a lot of time.

It was the lot of the men on the front lines to have supply shortages, but people were falling asleep and never waking up out here, freezing to death in their holes.

Warm clothes was a matter of life and death.

No one would take Eve's scarf or coat, now that they all had one of their own. She had her lined ODs to ward off a lot of the chill (okay, not a _lot_ of it, but some of it) and tried to pass out whatever else she had by the way of warm clothing not already on her – but no one would take her up on it. She wished they would. The guilt of not being able to give share what little warmth she had was almost worse than the cold. It was part of the reason she was still hauling all the stuff in her bag around.

Her bag hastily repacked, Eve buried her nose in her scarf and leaned against the frozen wall of her foxhole. The snow was coming down heavier now. Fat flakes tickled her cheeks as they brushed her skin and then fell to the earth or melted depending on their size. Eve tried not to think about it. She lifted her head and huffed out a puff of steam, watching it snake into the air like dragon smoke. It was one of her favorite tricks as a child. Her cloud wafted away from her, taking some of the flakes with it.

"If you wanted a smoke you could just have one," said Bill, startling her. "I know you got 'em."

Eve looked up at him, hunched over, ears tucked into raised shoulders in his nearly black coat. She offered him a quivering smile, her teeth chattering, but shook her head.

"I won't tell anyone," he promised.

"You go ahead if you want to," she replied, teeth rattling. The temperature had probably gone down a few more degrees, if she had to guess the cause of her exacerbated shakes.

"Jesus Christ," he said, as he hopped down into the dirt and settled next to her. "I'm pissin' needles," he informed her.

"You seen Roe about it?"

"What the hell's he gonna do about it?" Bill asked rhetorically, pulling out the blanket. "We ain't got any Penicillin."

"I know that, but he is a doctor, he might have something you could do to help."

He grunted as he sat down.

Eve decided to take that as consent to at least think about it. She moved up against him so they could share warmth. He wrapped the blanket around them stretching it taunt so it might cover them both. The parts left exposed froze, but neither complained.

"My squad all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he confirmed, but he offered nothing more. If she wanted to know details she'd have to get up and go see for herself. If Bill was smart, he was going to get as warm as he could before he did anything else. He grabbed her round the neck and pulled.

Eve let herself be tucked into his chest like an oversized child's toy and got comfortable wedged up under his arm. He was far warmer than the dirt, and so was she. Instead of pressing for further details about her guys, who she trusted to take care of themselves – especially since they were off the line and probably out of immediate danger – she decided to catch some sleep. She was sure Bill would stay up to talk with her if she started yakking at him, but Eve didn't have anything else important to say, so there was no reason to stay awake. She wasn't sure if, when, the Germans were going to try shelling them again, so she was gonna get some rest while she could.

-

Roe found the other Easy Company medic, Ralph Spina, in their foxhole.

Somewhat predictably, Dike hadn’t been in his hole. The man was never where you needed him to be.

He didn’t have the energy to go hunt their CO down – especially since it wasn’t an emergency – Roe abandoned his search for the time being.

He was tired.

"Did you get anything?" Spina asked as Roe jumped down nexst to him.

"Sergeant Buchanan had six kits in that pack of hers," Roe replied, passing three of the kits to Spina.

"No shit? What about scissors? Did you find any of them?"

Gene had been looking for scissors since they'd left Mourmelon. His original pair, the ones that he’d kept close throughout Normandy and Market Garden had somehow disappeared from his pack in the retreat out of Holland.

Knowing he was going to be in for some teasing, Roe reluctantly fished the tiny scissors from his breast pocket. They fit in the palm of his hand easily, he wasn’t sure they’d be any use at all for the kind of cutting he’d need to do in a hurry.

Spina let out a barking laugh. “Those are the puniest excuse of a pair of scissors I’ve ever seen!” he informed Roe.

“It was all I could find,” admitted Roe with a grumble.

"I'll keep looking," Spina promised once he'd stopped laughing.

Gene nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was slightly irritated that Spina'd been laughing for the last ten minutes at his plight, or grateful. There was precious little to laugh at out here. Every time Spina looked over at him, he started chuckling again.

Playing along, Roe sent the other medic a glare, and settled in for another long, cold night with a secret smile – grateful for his friends. If he was going to be cold and miserable out here in the woods in the middle of winter, he was glad he was doing it with people who could still laugh about it.

He’d scout out another blanket for Ev and Guarnere when he got up in an hour to check the line again. He just needed a few minutes of sleep first.

-

The next day, Eve slid into a foxhole with Lieutenant Buck Compton. Everyone swapped holes and people in them as they lost men and were reassigned to fill the holes in the line. This had the added benefit of keeping them from monotony.

No one wanted to be above ground for long.

The Krauts had developed a new kind of terror. The Germans pelted them with shells that had a shortened fuse so they exploded in the treetops, raining shrapnel down from above in the form of giant splinters. They skewered men sometimes. Eve would rather just be blown to hell than be skewered to death – riddled with pikes.

Buck was one of her favorite people to share a hole with for the simple fact that he was one of the guys who gave off the most heat.

She hadn't seen much of him since he got back from Holland. He didn't say much anymore, though he spoke often before.

If Eve did see him off duty he was often staring off into the distance at something only visible in his mind.

 _It was that hospital_ , she knew. _The death and pain he saw there changed him._

Hospitals were supposed to be a place of healing, and yet she’d never seen the kind of trauma they could induce equaled, despite being in the middle of a warzone. Buck had a vacant – almost dead – look in his eye.

No, Eve never, ever wanted to see anything more of the hospitals than what she'd already seen. She’d rather die on the line and have done with it.

Who knows if she’d actually feel like that if she was ever actually holding on for her life – and Eve sent a fervent prayer that she’d never find out.

She was grateful that Buck had had the strength to come back, even if he wasn’t as verbose as he used to be. He was still an effective leader – and they needed him desperately.

So she was content to sit quietly in their foxhole, a blanket from Roe on her shoulders, and wait for Buck to acknowledge her.

It took him a while.

She shivered and hunched further under the blanket. Frustrated though she was at Roe for following through and expending the effort to get her a blanket from their finite resources, she was ridiculously grateful for it right now.

It took a while, but finally, Buck’s eyes started to clear.

She smiled at him as he blinked at her.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, as though she hadn't been waiting for him to notice her for the last ten minutes.

"Yeah," he said, quietly.

Now that he was aware, and she wasn’t likely to spook him, Eve leaned on Buck for warmth, spreading the blanket out to share. To her relief, he immediately pulled her closer. She let out a sigh as warmth started to lick up her sides. She closed her eyes.

-

Ev was nearly asleep when Buck found his voice.

"Did I ever show you a picture of my girl?" he said, jostling her a bit to get into his breast pocket.

He didn’t look at the picture as he handed it over to the girl. It was of him and his beautiful girl, smiling, looking happy and carefree on a blissfully sunny day.

"She's beautiful, Buck,” Ev said after a moment. “A lot prettier than I'll ever be, that's for sure. She could give my sister Elizabeth a run for her money," she told him, pulling a laugh from the man. She’d talked about Elizabeth sometimes – often saying that her sister’s beauty could put anyone to shame. Buck wasn’t sure he believed it – Ev was a beautiful girl but if her sister was half the looker Ev described, she must be a knockout.

"You're so full of shit," he said, pulling her closer into his chest. She was better than a hot water bottle. None of the guys were so comfortable seeking warmth together, sure they huddled together for warmth, but Ev would let you hold onto her and it was okay because she was a dame.

It was the biggest show of trust he’d seen from the woman, and one he was sure no one would abuse out here in this frozen wasteland.

"I'm not sure why she puts up with me," he admitted, thinking of his girlfriend. He carefully didn't mention the letter burning a hole in his bag. His girl had written to him to let him know that she wanted, needed to sever ties with him. She couldn't wait any longer for a man who might not return at all, not when she'd found someone else to make her happy.

The woman in his arms raised her head and stared at him in disbelief. "You're a fine catch, Buck Compton. The girl who says different is blind. You point her out to me if you find her, I'll set her straight."

He smiled again, imagining the fierce sight of Evelyn Buchanan scolding some woman to defend _his_ honor.

It was a good thought.

“Go to sleep, Ev,” he said, smiling.

“Goodnight, Buck,” she replied.

Within moments, Ev was asleep, her soft, warm breath huffing into his chest as she settled down into sleep.

Buck watched the snow fall and prayed to the Lord that Evelyn Buchanan made it through this war.

-

The next night, Eve was on watch up on the line just before dawn. Her foxhole buddy for the day, Liebgott, was still sleeping. Last night they'd been pulled to fill a gap in the line in the middle of the night. She'd only insisted that the man try to sleep a couple hours ago, roughly an hour after they'd moved to the line, so it was down to her to keep watch until they got rotated back.

Eve hid a cough in her sleeve, trying not to wake Lieb. She'd known she was getting sick for a while, could feel it coming on the way you could sometimes sense illnesses, long enough that she’d made the decision to keep it quiet.

Nearly everyone was sick and coughing, a product of insufficient clothing and not enough food. Roe and Spina couldn't do anything about it, any medicine they might have had was long gone.

Eve refused to get off the line – as most of the sick men did – they needed every last body to keep the Krauts at bay.

So she dealt with her cough quietly and tried to keep people from noticing it.

Despite her efforts, Liebgott woke up.

 _Damn it_ , she thought, watching him blink awake. _It's not even dawn yet_. She'd had plans to let him sleep until sunrise at least that were now utterly spoiled. He wasn’t going back to sleep now.

"What the fuck, Ev," he said lifting his head up to peer at her. "You sick?"

"No," she denied.

"You sound sick," he said. "Com'ere." He held out a hand to check for a fever.

She batted it away with a scowl. "I'm fine, Lieb," she insisted.

He gave her a suspect look, certain she was sick now that she was actively dodging him. "You wanna catch some sleep?" he offered, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere with the sick angle.

She gave him a look, but decided not to argue. Truth be told, her eyes had been closing a little too often for the last hour. It was probably for the best that he took over now. "Sure," she magnanimously as she positioned her bag to use as a makeshift pillow. If she was lucky, she’d get a few hours in before they had to go on patrol again.

Her last memory before sleep was Liebgott cursing as he fussed with spreading a blanket over her, scooting in closer.

-

The sun was just creeping light across the trees, not that they could see the vibrant colors of sunrise properly with all the fog.

Gene needed supplies desperately, and the only place he could think that might have any was Third Battalion. He wanted to take someone along, and he decided to ask Ev. He’d spent a good while trying to find her behind the line before being informed that her squad had been pulled up to the front sometime last night.

After too long looking, he finally found his friend sleeping under Liebgott's watchful eye. The crunch of snow announced him, and Gene met the man's eyes. Liebgott barely glanced at him before glancing down at Ev with concern and then turning back to look out across the frozen wasteland beyond their line.

Liebgott was worried – about Ev. It was unsettling.

"She all right?" he asked the man.

"Coughin'," answered Lieb, ratting her out while she couldn't tell him not to. "Hasn't been sleepin' much," he commented. He went on to mention that Ev had snapped awake nearly every fifteen minutes to try and convince him to turn over the watch again.

"I'll watch out for the cough," Gene assured the man before reaching down to shake the woman awake.

"Rise and shine," crowed Liebgott.

"Shut up, Liebgott," she said, sitting up. "Gene?" She looked surprised to see him squatting outside their hole. "What's up?"

"I need to find Third Battalion," he said.

"I'll come with you," she interrupted before he could even ask, gathering her helmet and M-1 from where they were resting within easy reach. "You all right by yourself for a while, Lieb?" she asked the man.

"Yeah, you go," Lieb said already focused on the line again.

"Thanks," she murmured, took the hand Roe offered her, and climbed out of the hole.

-

Eve dusted off her backside when she'd climbed over the lip of her foxhole to stand next to the medic. It did nothing for the state of her uniform, but it was habit too long engrained to stop now. Wordlessly, she followed Roe as he led her through to the relative safety brought from being behind the line.

"What do you need Third for?" Eve asked once they were out of Liebgott's earshot and making their way through the foxholes that decorated the main hub of Easy Company’s defensive position. She assumed it had to do with supplies, but for all they knew, Third Battalion had even less to spare than they did. If they were going off to beg – to borrow from Paul to save Peter, as her mother would say – things were more desperate than she’d feared.

"I'm down to my last syrette of morphine,” Roe informed her gravely.

 _The kits I gave him have already been used up_ , Eve inferred.

"All right," she said nodding, making light of the fact that without morphine, more people were surely going to die in the next barrage. Men could withstand pain only so long before the body gave out. Morphine was a powerful thing. "Do you have any idea where they are?"

"Some," he answered.

"Lead the way," she said, holding her gun ready.

Roe tucked his hands into his coat pockets. It gave him wings as his elbows bent. Eve kind of thought it fitting, but decided to be on the lookout for gloves for him. Maybe she could donate one of her extra pairs of socks to the cause. Or maybe he could be convinced to take her gloves.

 _Probably not_ , she decided after studying him through narrowed eyes.

After a few minutes of calm, Eve reflected that she was glad Roe had asked her to come along. They hadn't had the chance to see much of each other since entering combat. And it was nice to get out of a foxhole to walk around behind the line for a while. Above ground wasn't necessarily safe, but it was better than shivering in a hole. At least walking warmed her up for a bit and got her circulation going.

She followed Roe back through the line and the camp beyond, guessing that he’d asked either Captain Winters or Captain Nixon to get an idea of where Third was stationed.

The line and the men on it had been shifting so much that it was hard to get accurate information on who was where. Just last night, Eve’s squad had been drafted when the 501st had pulled back without warning and left their flank flapping in the wind.

Snow crunched and ground together like thousands of tiny teeth underneath her boots as they steadily made their way through the silent forest. Each breath she took quaked. Each pull of oxygen froze Eve's throat all the way down into her lungs until she was frozen on the inside too. She couldn't even bite her lip to muffle the sound for fear she'd chew it clean off. Her only comfort was that she could hear Gene's quivering breath too.

She wasn't even sure where they were going, or even if they were still behind the lines anymore. She wasn't too sure Gene knew either.

The fog was so thick Eve had to keep nearly on top of Gene not to lose him in it. It dampened the sounds of the forest she was so used to hearing at home.

It was eerie.

Roe stopped and crouched down. Eve followed his instincts without question and sank to a squat behind him.

She heard the choked-off explicative, the flinch in his voice, as he pulled his finger up to look at the welling blood. He'd pricked his finger on a pine branch half-buried in the snow.

Eve held her tongue at the look on Roe's face as he smoothed the ruby droplet away. She supposed that seeing the evidence of the blood in his own veins, this irrefutable proof that he was alive, meant something far more profound to Gene than it did to her. It worried her that he’d need such reassurance – the way his face and posture told her he did.

She didn't ask though. Even the slightest noise might carry to interested German ears.

She just hoped he was all right.

Roe stared forward, disregarding the injury. Eve followed his gaze just as the wind cleared the fog enough to reveal the barren no-man's land they'd reached.

Gene looked back at Eve and shook his head. They were lost. _Fuck_.

With a resigned sigh, Gene got to his feet and picked another direction. Eve waited, watching the line just a little bit longer to see if anyone on the other side of those trees had noticed the movement. Roe had nearly disappeared again in the fog before she was satisfied they’d gone unnoticed and she hurried to join him before she got stranded in the fog.

She caught up with him easily. _He waited for me_ , she realized, giving him a smile.

They continued walking. The fog was so thick, Eve could only see twenty yards in any direction. It added a sense of loneliness and isolation to the atmosphere of the hellish forest. She moved over to walk a little closer to Roe. She was very glad she had him for a friend. He bumped her shoulder, most likely thinking the same thing.

Eve realized afresh in this oppressive forest that Gene had the hardest job in the whole damn army. He was constantly rushing around taking care of everybody. When the shit started flying, well, Eve, like any other person, only wanted to be in her hole in the ground. Gene had no such luxury. Every time someone screamed for a medic, he brazenly broke from cover to help the poor bastard.

Half the time Roe got to the downed son-of-a-bitch only to realize that there was nothing he could do but keep the poor kid calm until God took him away. Eve knew it killed him a little each time.

 _It must take some crazy kind of courage to do it. Or faith_ , she thought, remembering the string Gene had made into a rosary to pray over.

It made him revered in a way that Eve never would be. But it was slowly tearing her friend apart.

Eve could do little to ease the pain he felt after losing someone, but she did her best. She made sure she had a cigarette to give him each time he came to check on her. They were far more precious now than ever. He never seemed strapped for smokes though, so Eve figured she couldn't be the only one offering them to him. She suspected some only did it so that Roe would think of them fondly when they were screaming for help.

Eve did it so Gene would get something back for spreading himself so thin taking care of them. She wished she could give him something more useful than just smokes, but it was the only thing she had left to give that he would take.

The distant sound of gunfire cracked through the air. Eve turned to face it instinctively. It was too far away to be anywhere near them, but the impulse was too engrained by now. She wondered if she should get back to the line, if it was her guys under fire, but – with a glance at Gene – decided he’d need her here more. He didn’t have a weapon to defend himself with, after all. The sounds of the fight died off after a few moments. If someone cried for a medic – neither of them heard it.

They continued, drifting through the woods like shadows, trying to find their way back to their own line now. Everything looked the same. Twigs and branches barely cracked under their booted feet. Eve could see the white dusting of frost on Gene's helmet and didn't want to touch her own for fear that her hand would stick to it.

Roe froze between one step and the next. Eve nearly bumped into him.

She had her rifle up within a second of recognizing the Kraut motorcycle and sidecar and the forms of prone men, and then lowered it as her eyes registered that the German bodies on the ground were blue and frozen solid.

She forgot to breathe as she took the corpses in. They blended in with the ground they were so pale, a fine frost of white misting over them all. Each man was a cruel parody of a marble statue, frozen forever in time. Some looked like they'd just laid down for a nap. One man had the guts of his leg hanging out, a weird color of red, blue, and white. Nothing about it was patriotic. Eve didn't think she would ever be able to stomach seeing that color again.

She traded looks with Roe, debating how much they needed the supplies versus how difficult it would be to pry it loose. He shook his head slightly and Eve let it go. They turned away and left the men to rest, unlooted.

Eve knew, as Roe did that they were way too close the German line to go looting through these poor bastards for their aid kits or food – if the Germans even had aid kits or food left. And yet, their need for whatever they could get their hands on was so great that the part of her brain attuned only to survival insisted she go back and try to get something.

Her conscious won. She didn't turn back.

They hurried away from what was obviously the German side of the line and went back the way they came, running in haste rather than the cautious walk they'd been using. Their side of the line was definitely behind them somewhere, though which direction other than that was uncertain.

They were completely turned around at this point. It wasn't all Gene's fault. Third Battalion HQ probably moved daily, with the lines so thin and constantly shifting that there was no way of knowing whether or not they were in American held territory or German.

The thought made her tense all the more.

After hours of walking, still hunting for Third and getting nowhere, Gene looked at Eve.

"You know the way back to base?" he asked.

Eve nodded and headed to their left. It was something the men had just come to accept that she could do. Give her a starting point, and she could get you back there. It came in handy.

It took only twenty minutes before they found themselves back at Battalion CP. Eve gave Roe a triumphant smile. He clapped her on the shoulder as they trotted into camp. The errand had taken far longer than expected – especially since they were unsuccessful – and Eve, at least, was eager to get back and make sure her men were still in one piece.

As they moved forward, a figure emerged from the fog. It was Winters. He was sitting out on the edge of his foxhole behind the CP. Stone hard soldier that he was, he was trying to shave judging by the lather on his face, but obviously hadn't started.

A crack sounded to Winters's left drawing Eve’s attention.

Seeing his people out in the open, Winters hissed. "Doc, Ev, down!"

Eve obeyed immediately, sinking into a crouch with Roe only a beat behind her, eyes on Winters.

The captain abandoned his shaving paraphernalia and gave the signal to fall in. He grabbed his M-1 from where it rested in front of him and whipped around so that his eyes were focused on where the noise had originated.

Roe and Eve fell right in behind him. As a team of three, they crept forward toward the sound. Eve wasn't sure what it was, but she held her rifle ready for anything. They were way too close to the CP to allow strange noises to go unchecked.

They'd only gone about ten feet, barely reaching the crest of the hill the CP was on, when Winters stopped and pulled his gun into firing position. Eve was just able to make out a bent human shape in the mist beyond them. She flanked Winters on his left, also getting into firing position while Roe got to his right side and crouched down. The more their numbers, the less likely the lone man would put up a fight.

The man appeared to be getting ready to take a shit. Eve hoped so; it meant that he was unlikely to have a bunch of buddies waiting in the wings that she couldn't see.

Winters waited until he was certain the man was in no position to fire. He glanced at Eve, asking without words that she had a kill shot lined up in the off chance that his own missed. She nodded, slowing her breathing in the anticipation of taking a kill shot – she would only have one shot.

" _Kommen Sie hier. Kommen Sie hier, schnell_ ," said Winters in a crisp voice. It was nearly a growl. Eve had enough German lectures from Liebgott – there was a lot of time to kill in a foxhole between battles – to guess that he was telling the German to "come here quickly."

" _Schnell_!" Winters barked again as the Kraut tried to right his clothes. One hand in the air, the other on his belt for his dignity, the Kraut emerged from the fog.

He hurried over with his hands interlocked behind his head in surrender.

"Roe," said Winters, "Go get two guys from Battalion HQ Company to come escort this prisoner." Neither Winters, nor Eve had lowered their weapons and Eve didn't intend to until their backup arrived.

Fortunately, Roe was well versed in the dangers a lone enemy posed. There was always a chance that the man’s friends, who should have noticed by now that he wasn't back from taking a shit would come looking for him. The more guns there were on hand, the better. He was back in only a few minutes with two exhausted looking men from Battalion HQ Company. They and Eve stood guard, Eve much more at ease now that the Kraut was so outnumbered.

Roe looked on from the sidelines, only joining Eve next to Winters as the captain began frisking the man for concealed weapons and intelligence.

Eve finally looked at the Kraut as a person now that he wasn’t a threat and was surprised. He was just a kid. He couldn’t be older than eighteen, probably younger than even the greenest replacements they got. His overlong brown hair flopped into his terrified brown eyes as he quietly observed his new captors. He had a long face and the way he held himself was like a child being scolded by grown-ups.

Winters left no pocket unturned. Once she got past the boy’s age, Eve tried to keep from envying the newly made captive’s coat – it looked warm and well made. She was more aware than ever the bedraggled state of their uniforms, how threadbare and worn they seemed in comparison to the clearly newly outfitted kid.

It perpetuated the picture that they were the real soldiers here, and that this child was merely a boy playing dress up in the woods.

The Kraut was a model prisoner. He didn't even raise a protest as Winters drew out his wallet and began pulling things out, stopping on a picture of an elderly couple, obviously the kid's parents. The man-child looked from the picture to Winters, a silent plea on his face.

Stoic, Winters returned the picture and tucked both it and the wallet back into the Kraut's pocket with a pat, after he rifled through it more thoroughly for correspondence.

Winters continued searching the man. He found a small black package, examined it briefly, and tossed it to Roe. "Doc? Bandage."

Roe caught it in cupped palms and looked it over, hoping he could figure out how to unwrap the thing and keep it sanitary despite the foreign instructions. Deciding it was roughly the same as the kits he was used to, he slipped it into his medic bag. He shot Eve a rueful look. It was the only bit of medical supplies they'd managed to collect all day.

"Take him back to Regiment," Winters ordered the two guards from HQ, giving the Kraut's coat a final shake.

A jeep's distinctive engine came buzzing up. Eve and Roe turned with Winters to acknowledge the passengers. Winters exchanged a furrowed look with Eve and Roe. From the look on his face, he hadn’t ordered a jeep. _Must be a VIP_ , she thought.

She was right.

Colonel Sink hopped out of the back of the jeep with an unfamiliar – but imposing figure riding shotgun. "Gent's you all know General McAuliffe, acting Division Commander," he introduced.

Eve hung back with Roe and observed the man who'd taken over for General Taylor (who'd apparently discovered that he didn't like being shot at and disappeared back to Washington who knows how long ago). McAuliffe seemed stern from a distance, imposing and unfriendly, but then he'd apparently come up with this plan for holding the line around Bastogne, so Eve wasn't exactly inclined to like him.

"Give it to me straight," the General said, approaching Lieutenant Colonel Strayer, who'd come out of the CP to meet him.

"We have been taking ground in one position, General, and losing it in another," admitted Strayer, helmet in his hand.

 _He looks exhausted_ , thought Eve. As she looked around, she realized the same could be said of any man here.

"And now it looks like a standoff,” continued Strayer. “We're digging in on the edge of the forest." He turned to acknowledge Winters, who had come up to join him and had more information on the subject.

Obligingly, Winters picked up the narration. "We're under sporadic artillery fire, General. We're taking a lot of hits, and we have no aid station. We've run out of food, we have no winter clothes, and we have little or no ammo. The line's spread so thin the enemy wanders into our CP to use our slit trenches, sir. We just can't cover the line."

Eve inhaled a little too deeply and a chest-wracking cough spilled out of her mouth.

Gene turned sharp eyes on her. His hands flew to her face, feeling her forehead and eyes for signs of fever. His fingers were so cold they might as well have been icicles as they touched her. She pulled away in displeasure. He frowned, even more concerned, but she shook her head to wave him off, fighting to stop coughing. The last thing she needed was for the General to notice him fussing at her.

Fortunately, Colonel Sink's drew General McAuliffe's attention to Captain Nixon. The good Intelligence Officer's timing was impeccable as he emerged from his covered foxhole with his own ragged cough. From the still closed state of his eyelids, Eve would bet that he'd only come out to tell whoever it was talking to shut up.

"Good morning, Captain Nixon," said Sink before Nix could even open his mouth to speak – which was probably for the best. "You got anything to add for General McAuliffe?"

Sink was clearly aware of Nixon’s less than cheery attitude in the morning – and was helping the man keep his foot out of his mouth. Eve might've laughed at the byplay if she had the air – and if the General wasn’t here to witness.

Also, the sun was almost directly overhead, making it morning by the barest of definitions.

Nix blinked up at Colonel Sink, bewildered at his sudden unexpected audience and visibly gathered himself. "General, uh," he said, pulling himself out of his hole. "Yes, sir.” Nixon took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was even – with only the barest hint of derisive sarcasm.

“General, I took a walk on our line at about 0300 last night,” reported Nix. “I couldn't find the 501st on our right flank. I tied it in with a squad from our second platoon," he said in exacerbation as he waved a hand to indicate Eve. It was her squad he'd woken up and had move up to the line. "But sir, we've got some considerable gaps in our perimeter."

"I don't have enough people, sir," said Strayer in summation. "We're spread too damn thin."

"Hold the line, Colonel," was the stout reply from McAuliffe.

Eve was confused. She exchanged a dumbfounded, perhaps incredulous look with Gene. _Didn’t Winters and Strayer both say – in terms anyone should understand – that we're in no condition to hold the line?_

"Close the gaps," ordered the General as he and Sink reboarded the jeep. "This damn fog won't lift any time soon, so you can forget about air cover. Your First Battalion just pulled out of Foy, Krauts on their tail. Tanks, artillery, got no back up. There's a lot of shit headed this way."

They drove off, leaving only the ominous warning behind.

“What do we do?” Roe asked her.

“We hold the line,” said Eve. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

She clapped Roe on the shoulder before heading back to her hole, back to her squad.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Kudos and Comments alike. The support for this story has been overwhelming and I truly appreciate each and every one of you. 
> 
> Updates every Thursday.


	28. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company realizes the situation is grim as the weather gets colder.
> 
> "Tough times never last, but tough people do." – Robert H Schuller
> 
> "Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm." —Publilius Syrus
> 
> Now: Easy Company keeps holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: This chapter was brought to you by the lovely Atman and Laura001.

-Chapter 28-

Eve left the CP for the line with a sinking feeling in her stomach. Roe had decided to linger at the CP for a while – hoping Winters would have something in his aid kit to spare. But with the bad news from command, Eve was eager to rejoin her guys.

She knew her squad had dug in on the far right flank of the line, so she was in for a bit of a walk through camp to get there.

“Sarge!” someone cried. To her surprise, it was Liebgott. He and Jackson were tucked into the foxhole she was passing, boiling coffee in a spare helmet. Luckily, they called out to her, or she would have missed them completely.

She barely kept from sagging in relief. _They’re off the line_.

Strewn blankets and sleeping bags meant that they’d probably even managed to get some sleep.

Someone had been looking out for her guys.

"Hey, Lieb," she said crouching down. It served the purpose of allowing her to relish the warmth of her own body for a minute. "How's it going?"

He yawned. She bit her lip to keep from grinning.

"Doin' good, Sarge," he said. "Want some coffee?"

"Nah," she said, waving away the cup he held out to her. The last thing she needed right now was coffee; she wanted to sleep as soon as she was able to lie down. "I’m gonna check on the other guys. Anybody out on the line still?"

“I think we all got rotated back," answered Jackson. He had huddled down into the smallest ball possible, staring at the barely steaming metal with acute longing. The one good thing about the fog was that during the daytime it hid any smoke from fires, so at least their food and beverages had a fighting chance of getting lukewarm, not that it stayed that way for long. “Marx is with Alley over there somewhere.”

"That's good. You get some sleep?" she asked to confirm her suspicions.

"Yes, mother," drawled Liebgott, a teasing twinkle in his eyes despite his flat voice.

"If I was your mother, Joe Liebgott, I'd smack you for giving me lip."

He smiled at her and she could tell that his mood had lightened considerably, which had been the point.

She gave them an admonishment to keep warm in her finickiest tone, the one she donned when she was trying to impersonate her mother or Elizabeth’s fussing.

She got actual laughter for it, so she stood up and strode off. She had others to find if she wanted to get some sleep before she got drafted for watch again.

She meandered through the scattered foxholes, looking inside each for her men. She exchanged jokes and pleasantries with them as she found them – even with the usually taciturn Marx. It brightened her mood because they all seemed to be doing okay. If her men could be in good spirits, despite how miserable they were, so could she.

Eve was on her way up the line, still looking for Lesniewski and Alley – who hadn’t been with Marx like Jackson presumed – and were still missing and nowhere to be found behind the line with the others. She hoped they'd been the first ones rotated back and were on a second shift; if not, she was going to take over for them. She could wait a few hours to sleep so her guys could get some now.

She stopped when she saw Spina digging a hole right on the line. _Jesus, we’re spread so thin even the medics have been called up to hold the position._

"Spina, want some help?" Eve offered.

"Nah, I'm 'bout done here." He waved her off, slinging out shovelfuls of dirt in the steady pattern recommended for digging foxholes.

"Have fun," she said, trying to remember where she'd moved to last night.

"Hey," he called after her, "how'd it go?"

"Don't ask," she said. She saw Roe coming up out of the corner of her eye and decided to let him tell Spina the news. When she thought over the plethora of bad news that she'd learned today, everything from their dangerously low supplies, to the battering First took, to the wandering Third, it was disheartening and exhausting. She just wanted to find her guys, rotate them out if they hadn't been, and get some shuteye.

She passed Lieutenant Dike, looking lost and confused, staring up into the barren tree branches but left him alone. Eve wondered what he was looking for – or worse, what he was seeing that she wasn’t – and didn't ask. He always looked a bit dazed, but at least he was in camp for now.

He wandered by without acknowledging her either, which was typical of him.

Dike was well in the running to become Eve's least favorite commander (Sobel only slightly edging him out because Dike hadn't actually _done_ anything yet). He was way too busy looking good in front of the brass to be of any use in the field. He constantly meandered off to parts unknown. He gave confusing, contradictory instructions about what he wanted them to do. And he never led from the front. He was a disaster waiting to happen; she could feel it in her bones.

But most of all, Eve disliked him because he ignored her completely.

Apparently, he didn't know how to address her as both a woman and a Sergeant and so solved this problem by doing neither. It was enough to make her scream. Thanks to Dike's prejudice and ineptitude, the other NCOs and Lieutenants were overworked, while she was left to be idle.

Fortunately, First Sergeant Lipton wasn't prejudiced or blind. He redistributed the assignments after Dike issued them, mostly because Dike didn't appear to know what his exact orders should be, and thus left it up to Lipton.

Eve was tired of being ignored. But there was nothing she could do about the man.

She put Dike out of her mind after she passed him. So what if he never gave her assignments, everyone else did, and there was enough slack to pick up that she was never idle.

Lip caught sight of her as she went by and called her name. She turned and waited for him to come over to within earshot of her. "How’d it go? Did you find Third?" he asked with a hopeful smile.

Eve wasn't surprised that Lip knew about her expedition with Roe. And he'd probably been responsible for shifting her guys around. She shook her head, sorry to disappoint him, "No, we got lost. This damn fog makes it impossible to see beyond twenty yards."

"Shit," he said, face falling. He was one of the few people privy to the knowledge that their medics were out of nearly everything.

"Yeah, and that's not all,” she said. Lipton was one of the few people she would ever tell about the rumors she’d heard, first hand or otherwise. Rumors could be dangerous – “loose lips sink ships,” and all that.

“First Battalion got kicked out of Foy. Krauts chased 'em out. General McAuliffe was here to get Winters's and Strayer's report, we got orders to hold the line." He blinked at her; that's what they'd been doing all along. "My squad got pulled to cover where the 501st left us hanging in the wind last night at 0300."

He nodded, he'd probably figured that out this morning when he'd gone to check the line. "Yeah, I've got Alley and Lesniewski covering your hole right now," he informed her.

"They get off the line for some sleep?"

"Chow too," he assured her. He looked at her face, seeing the tired lines and bags under her eyes. "Why don't you sack out off the line for a bit."

Eve shook her head. "I'll be fine."

Lip met gave her a look. She frowned back, daring him to comment when he was just as tired as she was.

He backed down.

Eve had more to tell him, though, before he could slip away. She gripped his arm and lowered her voice. "That's not the worst of it, Lip. Winters says we're out of food." She let the blow sink in before she delivered another one. "Roe's down to his last syrette of morphine, maybe his last bandage."

He sighed heavily and seemed to sag under the weight of her news, but he nodded. "You did good, Ev." He touched her shoulder. Somehow, it made her feel better. "Go find a hole and get some sleep," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," she said, giving him a nod.

She was just about to leave when Lieutenant Dike's panicked voice pierced the air, "First Sergeant Lipton!"

"Sir?" Lip called back, straightening. He rolled his eyes at her, which made her laugh, but it turned into a cough, her eyes watered in pain as she struggled to draw freezing air into her lungs. She bent over, her body convulsing with the force. He pounded her back a couple times to loosen the cough. She straightened after what felt like far too long and sucked down air. She nodded to let Lip know that she was all right.

He gave her a final pat on the back, not able to put off going to Dike any longer, and said, "Keep warm, Ev," as he hustled off to see what the man wanted.

Eve hurried off as well, mostly so Lip wouldn’t come back and start mollycoddling her. She was relieved that she didn't have to go back on the line. Now that she was satisfied that her squad had been rotated back for some rest, she desperately wanted to find a vacant hole to sack out in. She really didn't want to have to dig a new one, but she would give it a good shot if it meant some sleep.

Eve was fortunate; she found a hole that was – for now at least – empty. She slid into it gratefully, body still wracked with after coughs and shivering anew. She took off her helmet, set it aside, and ran a hand through her hair. It was longer than she'd allowed it to get since joining the Army. She meant to go to the barbers before leaving Mourmelon, but there hadn't been time. Eve took comfort that she wasn't the only one looking scruffy. A lot of the men had grown beards in deference to the cold.

She inched down the dirt wall, trying to get comfortable. She'd retrieve her pack from Alley later. It had her name on it, but she wasn't concerned that anyone would take anything from it. She took her helmet off and leaned her head back against the dirt. God above, I miss the sun, she thought.

Between progressively longer and longer blinks she drifted off.

"Goddamnit," grumbled Toye behind her, "My socks are soaking wet."

She blinked awake, confused. _Why is he being so loud?_ she thought, resenting Toye with all her might for waking her. She’d only managed a couple moments of sleep – if she was any judge, which she might not be if she was being completely honest. She sat up, intent on chewing him out, she was trying to sleep for God's sake.

"Toye-"

Between one blink and the next the world exploded with fire and brimstone.

"Get in a hole!" she bellowed, somehow finding her feet despite the earth bucking and rolling underneath her. Everyone above ground dove for a foxhole.

Eve's sight flashed white. Her ears were ringing as a wave of dirt pelted her face. She blinked, desperately trying to regain her senses.

"Toye!" she cried, hoping others could hear her since she couldn't hear herself. She blinked a few more times and saw Toye lying exposed only feet from her hole, also blinking stupidly, trying to understand what happened.

Eve lunged over the sloped edge of her hole, grabbed two fistfuls of the man's jacket, and hauled him backwards into her foxhole. Another blast shook the ground. Eve flung herself over Toye, getting off him as soon as debris stopped pelting her back. She patted him down frantically, checking for wounds and praying she wouldn't have to call for Roe.

Toye sat up sputtering but unharmed. Somehow, the shell merely knocked him flat on his ass rather than chewing him up and spitting him back out in pieces. Toye’s infamous luck had manifested at just the right moment once again and kept him safe.

Blast after blast fell over them, every imaginable weapon being used, from the screaming rockets to the new devils that burst in the tree branches. Eve braced herself against the assault, knowing from what little she could hear over the cacophony of sound and an overwhelming amount of firsthand experience that the Krauts were hitting the entirety of the line, not just right above them.

Frazzled, desperately falling back on her training, Eve grabbed her M-1 and faced where the line would have been if they were on it. She needed to have her gun up and ready in case the artillery was a prequel for something nastier coming through the trees.

Some fool was screaming for a medic. Eve tried to figure out who it was, but the sound was jumbled up in the cracking boom of mortar fire. She prayed that Roe wasn't the one bounding about.

 _The man screaming had better be fucking dying to call for a medic in this shit,_ she thought.

The trees cracked into sharp pieces. Eve was certain she was going to be skewered any moment, impaled by these giant spikes made from the very things that offered them miniscule protection and cover. It was a nightmare brought to life.

Arms yanked her back down into cover.

"Are you crazy!" shouted Toye, his breath hot in her ear. Her hand flew for her helmet, suddenly terrified when her hand didn't meet frosty metal. Her eyes flew around, searching for it, for the protection it provided.

When a third blast hit close enough to yank the earth from beneath them, Toye pulled into his chest and covered her out of instinct. He wrapped an arm around her neck and held on. Eve mouthed prayers into his chest, beseeching God to help her survive this hell on Earth.

The shelling stopped.

Eve held still and kept her eyes closed in case it was going to start again. Toye echoed her heavy breathing above her. Neither wanted to move and break the tableau of the suddenly silent forest.

When it didn't, she wriggled free from Joe's locked arms and searched for her helmet. It was still lying on the side of her foxhole. She grabbed it and turned it over in her hands to look it over. No damage that she could see. That was a relief. If it had been damaged there was no way she was getting a new one.

Wayward equipment located, she gave Toye a more thorough inspection, verifying that he had indeed escaped injury.

"You all right?" she asked, likely shouting over the ringing in her ears. She drew in a couple quick breaths to try and calm her pounding heart as the waxing adrenaline kick drained her of energy. Something went awry and she was coughing again.

Toye pounded on her back, which let her see his stocking clad feet. She gasped, which sent her back into the depths of her coughing fit, much to Toye's concern.

After far too long, Eve was finally able to breathe enough to gasp out a question. "What the fuck happened to your shoes?"

Toye looked down at his feet, probably only just noticing the absence of his boots only now that Eve had mentioned it. He looked back at the smoking crater that used to be his foxhole.

"Fuck," he said. "I took 'em off to change my socks."

Eve looked over where his hole used to be. "Well, they're gone now."

"No shit," he said.

Eve took a closer look at his feet and winced. His socks were soaked through. She thought it over for a second and made a decision. Roe's gloves would have to wait. "Stay here," she told him.

"Where else would I go?" he asked, and then he noticed her getting out of the hole. "Where the hell are you going?" he demanded.

"I'll be right back," she assured him. "Alley's got my bag up on the line. I need it." She ran off.

It took only a few steps to realize that she hadn't exactly gotten that sleep she'd needed. She was exhausted. It wasn't until she stopped that she remembered her cough. She decided to refrain from future running if at all possible. It was getting a little hard to breathe.

She found Alley and Lesniewski easily enough, and greeted them with a "Hey, boys."

"Sarge," said Lesniewski while Alley offered her a smile.

"Do either of you happen to have my pack?" she asked, noting that not only were both unharmed, but both also had blankets.

"Here you go, Ev," said Alley, passing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, slinging it over her shoulder. "Stay warm, alright fellas?"

"You got it ma'am," said Lesniewski.

Eve gave them both a smile and hustled back to Toye, trotting rather than the aborted run she'd tried, memory fresh of coughing up her lungs. The cough wouldn't be half as frustrating if she was actually coughing something up.

Toye had surprisingly enough, stayed put. She hopped next to him with a thud, already rustling through her pack. In a matter of moments, she was pulling out her old woolen socks. She sank down to the floor shed her own boots.

"No, Ev, come on!" Toye protested as Eve pulled off her newer socks and gave them to him, revealing the double layer she'd been wearing.

She ignored him, tugged on the old, threadbare socks, and quickly slid her now freezing feet back into her boots. She sent him a scathing look and dared him to give them back.

He gave her a look, but didn't argue as he sat down to pull them on over his wet ones.

"Come on, you know better," she scolded him. "Dry socks over wet will do you absolutely no good. Let the other ones dry and double up when you can."

"Yeah," he said. He glared and pulled off his wet socks, hanging them around his neck to dry and likely freeze.

Eve pulled off her scarf and used her bayonet to cut it in half.

"What're you doing?" protested Toye.

"Do you have a better idea?" she said and proceeded to wrap each of his now socked feet in half her scarf, tying it on in a rough approximation of a shoe. It would do very little for keeping his feet dry in the long run, but layers couldn't hurt until they found something better.

"You need to tell the Doc or Luz," she told him. "They might be able to find you some replacements."

He gave her a flat look. It was optimistic and she knew it. Also, no way was he going to bother anyone, particularly the Doc for shoes, and she knew it. Luz might double as a supply officer, but you had to have supplies in the first place to distribute it.

Eve gave him one right back. If he didn't tell Roe, she would. Considering the matter settled, Eve leaned back, allowing her head to rest unimpeded on the frozen dirt. It beat ice-cold metal and a crick in her neck. Now that the shelling was over and her adrenaline was crashing, Eve felt the need for sleep more acutely than ever.

"Was anybody in that hole before it went up?" Eve forced herself to ask.

"Nah," he said, "McClung and I just got pulled up to the OP. I was trying to change my socks before I joined him."

"You should go then," she said, "He's probably worried about you."

"You got it, Ev," he said and climbed out of the hole. "You got a buddy?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I was just trying to get some sleep."

"I'll find you one before I go then." He didn't let her protest. "McClung can wait a little longer," he insisted.

"M'kay," she said at a hum, and closed her eyes to wait.

-

It didn’t take long before Toye found Bull Randleman alone in a foxhole, up on the line.

"Hey Bull," he said. "You alone?"

"Yeah, Penkala got hit in the arm so Doc sent him back. Tab and Christenson are supposed to be comin' up to relieve me soon."

"Sergeant Buchanan needs a buddy when you get there," Toye told him. "I gotta get to the OP. You think you can find her?"

"You got it."

"Thanks. She doesn't look too good."

"Why," asked Bull, concerned. "What makes you say that?"

"She's probably just tired. She was coughing a bit though," he said.

"Hell, Toye, everyone's coughin'."

"You know what I mean," said Joe.

Everyone did. Buchanan coughing wasn't anything like good. Sure some of the guys had coughs, but somehow – and Toye wasn’t sure how – Ev had become a sort of mascot to Easy Company. If she was there toughing it out with them, they could get through anything. Her illness seemed like a terrible omen.

"You go," said Bull. "I'll find her."

“Thanks,” said Toye, nodding.

“Hey, Toye?” said Bull as he stood up. “What happened to your boots?”

-

In what felt like only the span of a blink, Bull slid into her hole. Eve looked up and smiled at him, more than a little on her way to sleep.

The big man draped a blanket over Eve, pulling her close so she could share his body heat. She hadn't even noticed that she was shaking from the cold until the tremors that had wracked her body subsided slowly.

Eve, now considerably warmer, drifted off to sleep. After having to re-entrench themselves last night, her adventure with Roe, and the shelling they'd just endured, she was so exhausted she couldn't think straight.

She could've sworn she'd only closed her eyes for a moment, but when she pried them open again, it was dusk. Bull was still there, fiddling with his mug. Eve peered into it, nosy.

"Go get some chow," he told her, not letting her have any of his.

It was the best idea she'd heard yet. She realized suddenly that she hadn't eaten all day. Shrugging out of the blanket she'd been bundled in – and she didn’t want to know where it had come from – she got up to go find some chow.

She fell into line for the mess tent, prying her mug from the base of her canteen and flipping the handle out. She got her mug filled with the same single scoop that everyone got, and found a place to sit down with her spoon – deciding not to go back to her hole just yet. She saw a group of guys sitting around and considered joining them. Malarkey, Muck and Penkala were always good for some amusement. They were laughing their asses off about something (somebody maybe) called Hinkle.

Babe and a replacement were with them as well. She thought the kid's name might have been Julian, but he was exceedingly shy around her, so she didn't know him very well. It wasn't uncommon for the newer guys to be shy, or wary, so Eve decided not to kill their mood by joining them.

Her eyes found Roe a little way away off to the group's left. He was sitting on a box of some kind using a tree as a backrest, smoking a cigarette, and listening in on the laughing conversation; part of the group but separate. She walked up next to him and waited for him to acknowledge her with a smile before she sat down. If he wanted privacy, well, she could let him have it, but in her opinion, he was alone far too often for his own good.

She sat down with a sigh and dug in. Her food was now on the cold side of lukewarm but she closed her eyes and imagined that she was eating a warm beef stew. The rich taste of the red meat and the soft buttery feel of the potatoes, the caramel taste of the carrots and the thick, salty gravy it was nestled in. She almost tricked her mouth into believing it.

Despite her efforts in taking very small bites to stretch the experience, her meal was over far too soon. She looked up to see Roe looking her over. She gave him a smile and saluted him with her mug, which she'd wrapped her hands around to try and absorb the miniscule but quickly fading warmth from the metal. He huffed a laugh and made another drag on his cigarette before flicking the butt away. She reached into one of her inner coat pockets and pulled out another one for him, passing it to him with utmost secrecy and solemnity. She wanted no one to know that she still had smokes, or she'd never be left alone.

He lit it with a lighter from his pocket, which was good, because Eve didn't have one to offer him a light with.

The snow was falling heavily now, getting inside her mug and melting to water with the miniscule amount of residual heat.

Domingus, their cook, came around with a giant pot, dolling out heated ration bars. They were made of protein and honey, maybe a little chocolate, but they tasted like cardboard. He deposited one into Eve's mug once he'd finished with the larger group. Eve picked it up and offered it to Gene, who hadn't eaten, or had already eaten, she wasn't sure which. He pinched off a bit of the end and popped it into his mouth.

She bit off the other end, small bites again. This might be the last food she got until dinner tomorrow. She tried to offer Gene more, but he shook his head and gave another drag to the cigarette between his lips.

Eve gave him a suit-yourself shrug and ate the rest of it.

"Anybody seen Lieutenant Dike?" Lieutenant Peacock asked tiredly as he wandered by. He had the air of a man who had asked that question a thousand times and wasn't expecting a fruitful answer here either.

"Uh, try Battalion CP, sir," said Malarkey.

The lieutenant nodded and wandered off to go try there again.

"Try Paris," bitched Penkala with a snort.

"Try Hinkle!" said Malarkey, and they were all laughing again.

"Hinkle, sweetie, I'm home!" said Penk.

"Hey, Eugene," said Babe, turning to face the medic. He had his food speared on the end of his spoon like a sausage link. "Lieutenant Dike's got a full aid kit, try him."

"Yeah," said Malark, "I'm sure he's not using his."

"Maybe Hinkle's got a syrette for ya!" said Julian.

Gene, who'd been fiddling with the straight stick he used to tighten tourniquets, smiled around his cigarette and nodded. That was probably true.

Eve tried to will more warmth into the metal canteen she was holding, but whatever warmth she felt in the metal was only in her imagination. So, with a resigned sigh, she got up. She should probably spell someone from the line now since she'd had a bit of rest.

She fished out another smoke and handed it surreptitiously to Gene. He gave her a smile she returned and she gave his shoulder a pat as she walked by.

"Hey Ev," said Gene, catching her before she'd walked too far away. "You go get some more rest, alright?"

She nodded and changed direction towards the hole she'd abandoned Bull in. Sometimes there were orders she was only too happy to follow, and she wasn't stupid enough to defy Gene just because he couldn't technically order her around. His disappointed-in-you face could make Guarnere apologize.

She fell asleep to some nut jobs getting a lecture for singing. She hoped it wasn't her nut jobs, but was sleeping before she could convince herself to stand up and go make sure.

_What kind of idiot is singing in this miserable place anyway?_

The sound of defiant humming cropped up in the wake of the singing tune, one of those songs that had been sung over and over while they were waiting in foxholes for the world to erupt into violence once more, and yet meant that for now at least, there was peace.

-

“I’m running a patrol,” one of the replacement officers announced that night, waking everyone up in the area with his announcement. He was a lieutenant, fresh out of West Point and eager to prove himself. “I need some volunteers.”

“Sir,” said Bill Guarnere from the foxhole across the way a bit, “we don’t need to run a patrol, we already know where the enemy is.”

“We’re running the patrol, Sergeant. That’s an order. I need volunteers!” he snapped.

Eve kept her hand firmly down. Bill was right. It was a suicide run.

She counted seven hands that tentatively raised, all replacements. To her dismay, Marx was among them.

She shifted, ready to get up, but Bull put his hand on her shoulder. “Nothin’ you can do.”

“Stupid kid,” she said watching the lieutenant round up his now rag-tag group of replacements.

“Mhm,” said Bull.

-

When the inevitable sound of fighting started, Eve did her best to both listen as well as she could and ignore the burning desire to get up and help. She’d been on pins and needles as her replacement walked right into the enemy’s line without her. She may not have liked Marx in the beginning, but he was one of her guys now. Eve tried to always watch out for her guys.

The scream for a medic pierced the air and Eve lurched, knowing that Gene was now out in the fray. The sinking feeling in her gut made her certain that Marx was the man who’d been wounded.

She prayed as hard as she could, over and over again, that Marx would walk away alive.

Bull hugged her around the shoulders and kept her tucked tight into his side to keep her in the foxhole.

Sleep was impossible as she waited for the patrol to return.

An hour later the group limped back into camp. Eve scanned the faces and couldn’t find Marx. She bit her lip and tried to fight down the tears as the lead weight turned to a stone.

Bull’s warm hand was heavy on her shoulder as he tried to ground her before she fell apart. She savagely fought down the welling feelings of sorrow and anger.

She watched the foolish lieutenant find his way to Bill’s foxhole. The whole camp could hear the man as he said, “I’m sorry, Sergeant Guarnere. I should have listened to the more experienced soldier.”

It was too little and far too late.

Roe came by an hour later.

Eve tried to pretend her eyes weren’t rimmed red after hiding tears in Bull’s warm side as Roe slid into the hole with them.

He didn’t mince words. “He’ll live,” he said. “Got his hand blown off. They’re taking care of him at the aid station in Bastogne.”

“Thanks, Gene.”

He gave her a quirk of his lips and a nod before getting up. “I’d better be off. Spina’s waiting. Try to get some sleep, Ev. You too Sergeant Randleman.”

And then he was gone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard the Doc refer to anyone else by their nickname, Ev.”

“Hm?” she questioned, exhausted now that news had come through. The kid was alive. It was better than she’d feared. Maybe she’d try to visit him tomorrow if she had the time. “’s just Gene,” she said. “Go to sleep Bull.”

“Okay, Ev. You too.”

-

The next morning, Malarkey woke up as Roe came by, ostensibly to check on Ev. The redhead had switched with Bull as her foxhole buddy after the skirmish last night.

The woman, probably sensing movement, despite being almost dead asleep just moments before lifted her head off his shoulder and smiled sleepily at the doctor.

He smiled down at her and handed her something.

“You found some?” she asked, honest surprise in her voice.

"Perconte," he replied.

"That little bastard," she said, her tone teasing rather than derisive.

They shared another smile and the doc left.

Malarkey watched the exchange with confusion and after a long moment of deliberation, decided to ask. "What was that about?"

Ev looked up from where she had started digging through her bag. "Hm?" she hummed.

Malark waved a hand to indicate the item she still had in her hand.

"Oh, Roe's been looking for scissors; must've lost his in Mourmelon or something. Anyway, I leant him mine until he found something better." She showed Malark the scissors in question.

He laughed at her. They were smaller than her palm. "Those're dinky!"

Ev smiled. "They're from my sewing kit," she defended. "They're only meant for cutting thread. I use my bayonet for everything else."

"Doesn't that make things cockeyed?" asked Malark.

"Yes," she said, "But I'm not entering it in a sewing contest. I just need to get things to hold together until we're resupplied."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen any time soon."

"It might," said Eve, optimistic. He supposed one of them had to be. They let the silence hang for a minute.

"They're still pathetic," said Malarkey, drawing attention back to the prior topic rather than the dire supplies condition.

"They are," she agreed. "Apparently Perco, who I know he asked before, had a pair in that bag of his."

Malarkey didn't bother comparing her bag to Perco's; there was no contest. Eve had more stuff with her by far. He wondered if it was because she was female or if she'd just been better prepared than anyone, but regardless, she was fast becoming the person to ask for stuff. Malark bet she even had some smokes hidden away somewhere. There's not much guys wouldn't do out here for a cigarette; even the cash in his bag was worthless in comparison.

Out of the blue, Ev started coughing long and loud. It worried him a bit, but then, most of the guys had gotten a cough and recovered, so he didn't mention it. Instead, he tossed the neglected blanket over her and settled in.

It was going to be another cold day in Bastogne.

They just had to keep holding on.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are every Thursday. Thank you for reading and your continued support. I appreciate each and every one of you.


	29. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: The cold takes its toll on Easy Company as they fight to hold the line
> 
> That, I’ve come to believe, is the hardest thing about war: to be faced with so many emotional situations involving people who’ve come to mean the world to you. Losing those people, sometimes right in front of you. And yet not being able to grieve for them. Even after the war, when you were expected to just get on with your life as if nothing more had happened to you than, say, a reshuffling of your living room furniture.  
> — Sgt. Don Malarkey, Easy Company Soldier
> 
> Now: Things get worse and Eve hits a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the amazing Atman, who deserves a ton of credit for sticking with me!

-Chapter 29-

"Medic!" Skinny Sisk screamed from the foxhole next to Eve's.

They were on the line and under mortar fire again. Eve had hit the dirt as the tree between her hole and his had taken a direct hit, shattering with a sharp crack. Splinters rained down on them like javelins. Most of the wood that hit her bounced harmlessly off the back of her coat, sideways instead of piercing her.

Skinny hadn't been so lucky. She could see the pieces in his leg as she scrambled over the gap between them, her hands stinging on the still smoldering shards of wood.

Perconte, Skinny’s foxhole buddy, took up the cry for a medic as Skinny tried not to grab his leg and push the shards deeper; his hands already slick with blood.

Doc Roe came bounding through the trees like an angel from on high, sliding into Skinny and Perconte's hole.

"Perconte, get a jeep," Roe ordered as he cut Skinny's pants with Perconte's pilfered scissors.

"I'm on it, Doc," said the short Italian, pulling up the antenna for his radio. "Easy CP, Easy CP," he said, getting drowned out by Skinny's screams of agony. Doc began talking to Skinny, ease in his voice as he started pulling out the biggest pieces of tree from Skinny's leg with brutal efficiency.

Eve turned to watch the line, a curse on her lips as she saw the German infantry emerge from the trees. “Here they come!” she hollered, scrambling to get her weapon up.

"They're moving Goddamn it!" Perco screamed into the receiver. "We need it now!"

She shot off a few rounds, picking off two of the crouching men in white. Behind her, she could just see Roe as he bit off a corner of a sulfa packet, sprinkling the white powder sparingly over the wounded leg.

"Okay Sisk, ain't that bad, ain't that bad," said Roe as he held the limb still.

"Ain't that bad?" repeated Skinny, bewildered. "I got enough wood in my leg for a forest, and it 'ain't that bad?' _Shit_."

Gene shook out a pressure bandage and cinched it tight around Skinny's leg, tying it off with a final shout of agony from his patient. Eve spared them another glance as she loaded her last magazine into her M-1.

"No, Doc, save the morphine," Skinny protested. Eve looked to see Roe pulling out one of his last, precious, syrettes. "I can make it, save it, okay?"

Roe nodded and tucked it away again. "Come on,” he said. “Let's get him outta here. Fast."

 _Ping_!

The magazine popped on Eve’s M-1. She was out. She’d just fired her very last round of ammo.

"Shit!” she hissed, resisting the urge to throw the weapon in her frustration. She was useless out here without ammo, and if she was out, no one else had much left either. She needed to get more. The only place she could think that might have any to spare was Bastogne, where Roe was taking Skinny.

It was worth a try.

“I'm coming with you, Gene!" she called, grabbing her nearly empty pack from her own foxhole. She kept her gun with her, too well trained to just leave it behind. Bullets wouldn’t be any good without something to shoot them with, after all.

"Fine, hurry!" he barked, yanking Skinny out of the hole by his webbing. Perco scrambled to help. He and Roe hoisted Skinny into the air, careful to keep him in a sitting position to lessen the pain as they ran for the rear, Eve dogging their heels.

"Where is the Goddamn jeep!" Roe demanded after they'd gone a hundred yards and there was still no sign of it.

The ground bucked. Perco slipped, his leg shooting out from under him. The sudden weight yanked Gene down, and Skinny fell, screaming in agony, on top of them. Eve grabbed his helmet before it bounced away and Skinny's gun from where it had fallen off Perco's shoulder before trying to help untangle the boys.

"Argh! Jesus Christ," Skinny screamed through gritted teeth. Eve tried to help him sit up so Gene and Perco could wriggle free.

Perconte looked down at where Skinny had landed on him. "Aw, Skinny, you got blood all over my trousers."

"I'm real sorry, Frank!" said Skinny.

Eve gasped out a laugh as she struggled to pull Skinny up so Roe and Perco could grab him again.

A jeep appeared out of the fog, a stretcher laid out on the nose.

"Damn it, Skinny," muttered Perco. Eve wasn't sure if he was still commenting on the blood or if he was complaining about his friend being injured. Between Roe and himself, the boys got Sisk laid out on the already bloodstained stretcher.

"Tell Spina I went in for plasma!" Roe called to Perco as he slid into the passenger seat.

"I'm going too!" called Eve. "We need ammo!" She threw Skinny's stuff in the back seat.

"All right, hurry." Roe said as he hauled her the rest of the way into the jeep.

Eve pulled her rucksack, which she hadn't even realized she'd grabbed, onto her lap. When Eve was situated, she nodded and Roe took his own seat.

"Let's move!" he shouted to the driver. The man stepped on the gas.

The city of Bastogne was three miles from the front line. What would have taken them an hour's walk with the thick fog mucking up navigation, the jeep crossed in five minutes.

"All the tanks, artillery, all pulled back to here!" The driver told them as they pulled through the archway in the town wall. Half of the arch's bricks had been blown to hell. "We got no backup beyond Bastogne. This is it! And Krauts captured the 326," a jeep pulling out drowned the man's words, but she caught up when he said, "They took everybody! Doctors, medics, the whole shebang!"

Buildings were in snow-covered pieces on either side of the road. The church – the tallest building left - hadn't been spared damage, but it was still standing; a red cross on a white sheet hung over the chapel entrance.

"We got nothin'," continued the jeep driver. "We're giving the boys hooch for the pain!"

Eve traded a look with Gene.

They pulled to a stop in front of the church-cum-aid station. Eve helped Roe move Skinny from the jeep nose to the fresh stretcher two soldiers were carrying, taking his legs while Roe bore the bulk of his weight by taking his torso.

"He took a mortar hit. Watch the leg," Roe addressed to the two men. "Get him in," he ordered once they settled Skinny. He followed them into the church.

Eve let him go. Her attention was caught by the mound of dead soldiers, carelessly piled high outside the church, with no way to bury them in the frozen ground, and no time to do so if they could manage it with the enemy constantly nipping at them from all sides.

She said a quick prayer to God for their resting souls and started grabbing socks from frozen limbs, checking webbing, stealing aid kits, K rations, helmets, and canteens. Any spare supplies she could get her hands on she took. There was so much the men on the line needed, she couldn’t get enough stuff fast enough. She snatched up discarded bags and began filling them as well when her rucksack overflowed.

Some of the dead had scarves; she took those too. She made sure to get spare coats, particularly from the taller corpses; guys could double up.

It was hard, grisly work, trying to manipulate the already stiffly frozen dead into giving up their treasures, but she was desperate. The cold winter chill was like an icebox, it had frozen the bodies until they might as well be ice cubes. At least there was no smell, no decomposition of the bodies, but the lack of it made the work even more horrifying. She was certain she was covered in their blood, even if the poor bastards had none left.

Once she found a bag stuffed with spare rounds, she remembered the initial reason for her search and began looking specifically for ammo and musette bags. She started checking for weapons that might have been discarded along with the bodies and emptied the chambers of ammo.

She made it through roughly half of the poor schmucks on the right side of the road before Gene came running out of the church, clutching a crate like it was full of gold, and flagged down the jeep driver who'd brought them in.

"Can you get us back to the line?" he asked around the box he was holding.

"Sure," the driver said. He took the box from Gene's hands, presumably filled with medical supplies he'd gleaned from the hospital, and took it to the jeep.

Eve ignored this byplay and kept looting. A hand on her shoulder, Gene’s, finally yanked her focus from the grisly task.

"Come on, Ev," he said, pulling her away. She hurried to finish rooting through the man's pockets, wanting to get every last thing she could. There was no telling when they’d get another chance like this, no telling if someone else would have the same desperation to try searching the dead before she had a chance to return.

The thought made her feel sick, but she made herself keep going. One more pocket and then she’d be done and leave this man, who’d already given everything he had out here on this foreign patch of dirt, to rest.

She’d just finished when something caught Roe’s eye. He approached a corpse, quickly stripping the body of his boots and checking them for size.

"Nines," he told Eve when he caught her looking, "for Toye."

She nodded, glad he’d thought of it, she’d completely forgotten herself. Wasting no more time, Eve threw the straps of the various bags she'd filled over her shoulders and waddled towards the jeep under the weight.

"Eugene!" called a woman's voice over the jeep's engine. It was coming from the church.

Eve turned with her friend to see a pretty nurse in a bright blue head scarf, smiling at Gene as she trudged through the snow in practical boots under her skirt and leggings. The blue the woman was wearing over her brown braids transfixed Eve. It felt like a lifetime since she’d seen cloth any color but green or brown. It was a very nice color.

Shaking herself, Eve deliberately tuned out their conversation and got to work hauling her bags into the back of the truck before hopping up herself. Whatever it was the two of them were talking about, didn’t involve Eve after all. From the look on her friends face, it would probably be wise to give them some privacy, but she kept an eye on him all the same.

The woman tossed something at Gene. He caught it against his chest, looking down at it in surprise.

" _Chocolat_ ," she informed him. He held up the bar and stared at it, confused. " _Pour vous_ ," she said with a smile as she turned back into the church.

Gene nodded – though the woman clearly couldn’t see it – and hopped into the passenger seat. The jeep driver passed him the box of medical supplies once he'd settled into the passenger seat so he could hug the box and keep it safe in his lap. He put the boots on top of the box and slipped the chocolate into his coat.

Eve shot him a knowing look. She could see the smile that was lingering on his face, tucked into the corners of his sometimes too solemn mouth. She huffed a laugh when he brought the chocolate bar up to his nose and inhaled.

"Shut up," he said as he mock glared at her out of the corner of his eye. He passed the bar to her so she could do the same.

She smiled serenely. "I didn't say anything."

The jeep hit a hole in the frozen road and the overflowing bags nearly yanked her off the jeep. There were a lot of them, and they weighed nearly as much as she did, but each one was precious, so she held on for dear life. If any of those bags fell off, it was going to be because she fell off with them.

Roe latched onto her jacket and yanked her back into the bumping jeep. "You get any aid kits?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I didn't have time to sort them out."

"Later then," he agreed as they endured the bumps in the road.

-

When they reached the line, Father Maloney was giving a service to the men. Roe and Eve started unloading the supplies from the jeep while the impatient driver idled.

Roe spotted Spina in the group and headed for him, box in hand and Joe Toye's new boots around his neck.

Eve just tossed her bounty on the ground for someone else to sort out. She wanted to know what was going on.

"That's it, guys," said Skip Muck to the assembled men as the Father dismissed them from Mass. "Nothing more to worry about, we gonna die now, we gonna die in a state of grace."

Eve still felt dirty after digging through corpses like they were fruit carts, so she didn't find the comment funny even as several other men laughed at Muck's gallows humor.

She found Captain Nixon loitering at the back of the crowd and made sure he saw the bags she'd left behind. He'd see the supplies got distributed where it was needed most.

That taken care of, Eve grabbed her gun and a musette bag she'd crammed full of ammo and ran to join the patrol who were already leaving her behind. She heard Nixon getting some guys to carry the stuff back to the CP to be inventoried and distributed and smiled.

_Good ol’ Captain Nixon._

Eve caught up with Martin from First Platoon as the sergeant gathered up his squad. "Hey, Johnny," she greeted him. "You need any help?"

"Sure," he agreed. "Basic recon patrol. Kraut hunting," he informed her with a smile.

"Sounds fun," she said, and fell in line with the men already forming up tactical columns as Martin barked the order to move out. She tucked away a smile as she overheard Luz comment on Peacock's directional skills but didn't comment.

Bull clapped her on the shoulder. "You joinin' us?"

"Yep," she said and smiled at him, before slipping seemlessly into formation just behind him.

Martin caught Roe as he tried to follow them. "Doc, Doc," he said, putting his hands to Gene's chest to stop him, "It's a combat patrol, why don't you, ah, stay back and keep your ass outta trouble, huh?" said Martin.

Eve didn't hear Gene's reply if he made one.

"Come on, Hoobler," said Martin, rejoining them. "Pick it up."

They walked like shadows in the densely falling snow, moving cautiously through the trees that were standing a silent watch. The snow dampened all sound, making its lack oppressive and disturbing. The fog limited their ability to see each other, let alone where they were going.

Martin and Julian – Babe's replacement friend – were on point. They'd made it to a defensible position behind some logs that had been stacked perhaps in preparation of winter: abandoned pieces of life before the war.

" _Feuer_!" Eve heard a German scream.

A machine gun opened up on Martin and Julian's position through the fog. She hit the dirt, crawling for cover, praying that no one had been hit.

"BULL! CHRISTENSON!" shouted Martin over the popping MG. "UP ON LINE!"

Eve found her feet as she and the other men all broke cover to run for the sergeant’s position and form a line of defense, knowing that he needed covering fire or someone, likely Martin, was going to die.

They raced to the log pile, filling out the line.

"Medic!" screamed Martin.

Eve looked around for Roe, before remembering with a silent curse that he'd been left behind. She then looked for who'd been hit and saw Julian, blood all over his face as he reached out for Babe – who'd surged forward to land next to Martin.

"Suppressing FIRE!" Martin bellowed.

Eve flipped around and took the best shots she could manage through the fog and the distance and the heavy fire they were under. She picked her shots carefully – she didn't have ammo to waste after all – but she could do little against the fortified Germans. They must have hit the German line.

 _Fuck_.

She heard Luz calling on the radio that they had a man down. Babe was trying to get to the kid, but a line of machine gun fire blocked him every time. Julian had blood gushing from his neck; he spit even more out of his mouth.

"STOP MOVING!" Babe screamed at the kid. "They'll keep firing!"

Julian was beyond hearing them. He wanted to die with his friends, so he kept reaching for them, knowing they'd get him.

But they couldn't.

"FALL BACK!" yelled Christenson. "We've gotta fall back!"

Martin looked at him, and then looked at Babe's face and made the hard call. "Fall back!" he said. Bull and Eve echoed him, making sure the order was heard by everyone. "Move, move!"

"Don't move!" cried Babe, arm still outstretched to the choking man. "We're coming back! Stay with us! Look at me!" He was desperately trying to motivate Julian to hold on, to stay alive long enough for them to get back to him.

They were leaving him behind.

"Go! GO!" screamed Martin. The patrol broke cover and raced back towards safety.

Eve tried to remember the way. It was confusing. The dense fog made the trees all look the same.

"Come on, let's move!" yelled Hoobler. "Where the hell are we?"

"Straight ahead, straight ahead!" Bull answered at a shout.

Eve could see Gene already up and waiting for them. A shot of stray fire managed to hit a replacement in the back. He went down – a marionette with his strings cut. Eve couldn't see who it was; she was busy. She'd taken a tree for cover and was trying to spot where the enemy was firing from. Over the chaos, she heard Luz calling up a jeep.

"Eyes sharp!" yelled Bull.

Nix joined them. "Martin?" he snapped, trying to get the man's attention. "Martin!"

"Sir?" said Martin, moving to cover closer to Nix so they could talk.

"What's going on?" he asked, eyes flicking around the men, counting.

"They got Julian!" said Martin.

"He's still alive!" screamed Babe in denial.

"We don't know that," Martin answered.

"We gotta go get 'im, Sergeant!" pushed Babe.

"Did you hit an OP or their line?" asked Nix, weighing the options. If it was just an outpost, a rescue might be possible.

"Their line, sir," Eve answered, glancing at Babe as Martin agreed. She watched his face fall as the realization sank in. Julian was gone. They didn't have the men or the ammo to waste on a suicide mission to retrieve just one man.

"We gotta go back and get Julianni!" Babe protested futilely once more.

Eve bit her lip at the despair on his face. From what she'd seen of the wound, Julian was a goner either way.

Unable to bear the pain on his face any more, she started taking a head count, suddenly afraid that they'd missed someone else in the chaos of retreating.

"No. Fall back!" ordered Nix.

"We lost Peacock!" cried Eve, coming up short with her count much to her horror. _I didn’t even notice he was missing! What if he got shot too and we – I – didn’t even notice?_

"No, he's back at the CP," corrected Nix.

White-hot rage washed over her like a wave. Peacock had retreated without giving a Goddamn order for them to follow him. He’d abandoned them to die out there. _Fucking son-of-a-bitch._

She turned sharp eyes back the way they’d come, trying to spot any Krauts stupid enough to follow them. She fired anyway when she didn’t see anyone coming, steadying hands shaking with rage as the long familiarity of shooting took its hold.

"Come on, Martin! Fall back!" rallied Nix, urging the man to give the order. "Get 'em outta here!"

She wasn’t going to go anywhere until Martin told her to. Eve was going to keep firing on the enemy until she heard Martin issue the order to retreat.

Martin was leading now that Peacock had abandoned them to the wolves, and protocol demanded the patrol follow Martin’s orders, not Nixon's. Though Nixon technically outranked Martin, he was only an intelligence officer. If Martin gave the order to go back to the line and try to get Julian, she’d follow him in a heartbeat, Nixon be damned.

She watched the man from the corner of her eye, waiting for a decision.

"Let's go! Fall back!" called Martin, finally, after exchanging several more bullets with the mist between the trees.

Eve emptied her clip and ran.

-

As they got back into camp, Eve separated herself from the group.

She was fighting down tears, biting chapped lips to keep her anger away as she stormed through the camp.

She needed to be alone. She needed to be alone _now_.

There was no other option. She couldn’t show weakness to her men – not when they were all just as emotionally exhausted as she was, not if she wanted to keep their respect. And there was no holding it back – she was too livid to box it up anymore. Her box was cracking and it was all spilling over.

A hitched sob escaped and she slapped a hand to her mouth to push it back inside. Her legs began sprinting as the desperation for solitude became something as imperative as breathing.

She could feel a pressure building up inside her. Bubbling against her control. _Fucking Peacock. Fucking Dike. Fucking cold. Fucking cowards!_

Each new thought built up inside her, adding pressure. She was stretched so thin trying to contain it. She was starving and exhausted and Julian wasn't even eighteen and Peacock had left them, left him, to die out there alone. Like they meant nothing. Like they were just meat to stuff the cannons with.

She didn't know where her feet carried her. She didn't know if anyone was around and she didn't care anymore. They could be fucking Krauts and she wouldn't care at all. She needed to move, needed to hit something, let out this rage before it drove her mad.

Tears streamed down her face, sobs hacking their way through her and she viciously suppressed the sound ruthlessly until just ragged gasps escaped. Suddenly she was falling, a boot caught under something unforgiving. She landed face down in the snow and couldn't even find the strength to stand. Everything that was choking her flooded to the surface. She bit her tongue, allowed herself the weakness of tears but refused to make a single sound. Never again would she endanger her friends by making unnecessary noise. She pushed herself up to her feet, angrily shoving the ground away.

There was a hefty, bare branch in her clenched fists. She had no idea how it got there, but it felt right in her hand. Heavy. Dangerous. Her blood roared in her ears. Her teeth gnashed together so hard they might break. Everything was red. She picked her target and began to wail on it.

Bark flew everywhere as branch and unfortunate tree collided with a ‘ _crack_!’ It bit at her face, bounced off her helmet and jacket as she just kept hitting. Eventually the branch broke in her hand, which just made her even angrier. She threw it God knows where and began using her fists. She wailed on the tree in front of her, seeing nothing, seeing a man and hitting it again and again, feeling the pressure inside her burst free in wracking sobs and she had to gasp for air to fill the hollow space it left, trying desperately to keep it from collapse.

The skin on her hands burst, blood ran freely, and Eve cared not at all. She didn’t know where her gloves were, or even if she’d destroyed them in her rage, and still she cared not at all. The red of the blood, the warmth of it, was like seeing Julian gasping on it all over.

A hand gripped her shoulder, tugged on her. The force spun her away from the tree she was trying to tear down and towards a defenseless torso. Desperate to resume her violence – without it she would surely fall to pieces – she shoved him hard and spun back around, clawing and swinging her fists back at the bark. She didn't want to hurt anybody but the tree, these stupid fucking trees that were supposed to protect them but instead rained down death from above as though bullets weren't enough to tear them apart.

She tried to scream her frustration, to make this interloper understand that he needed to let her be, let her vent her rage before it consumed her completely, but air escaped her lungs faster than she could catch it.

Arms circled her, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked out as he lifted and dragged her away from the tree, flailing to force him to drop her. The cavern of rage was collapsing and she was so scared to let it go, for fear it would take her along with it, leaving her with nothing. Julian would still be dead; they would still be leaderless in this last level of Hell; she would still be stranded; still be watching her friends die every fucking day in a war fed by ambition and no further purpose. Germany didn't attack the US; the fucking Japs did. Fuck Hitler and the stupid fucking Nazi party. Let Europe self-destruct for all she cared. She was so tired of dying bit by bit as her friends were buried around her, so afraid she’d be next, that she’d be the only one left.

The bubble of anger did collapse and so did she. The arms holding her up fell with her and held her close as she sank to her knees and cried, cried for Julian, and all the other kids who would never know the warmth of another summer's day.

-

Liebgott was in a hole with Alton More when Ev stormed by more rigid than he'd ever seen her. She didn't even look around as she went by, tension in every line of her body. He shared a glance with More before hopping out of the hole to follow her. Something was wrong. He’d never seen her like this and that worried him. If he had to guess he'd say she was angry, but then he'd never seen Eve get truly angry, and never like this.

He caught Roe, who was already starting to follow her. The jeep carrying the wounded man from the patrol off to Bastogne to be seen too, but the Doc’s hands were still covered in blood.

"What the hell happened on that patrol?" Lieb growled at the Doc as he joined him. The growl was more for quiet's sake than anger's, but the worry behind it was certainly real enough.

"I don't know," Doc answered, worried and already to start after Ev again.

Lieb didn’t know why, but he was pretty sure it was a bad idea for anyone, let alone Roe to go after her right now. "Why don't you hang back, Doc?” said Lieb, intercepting the man.

Roe opened his mouth to argue, rebellious, when Captain Nixon caught his attention.

"There you are, Doc," said the Captain, his uncanny timing once again unfailing. "I need you to inventory the medical supplies we have on hand. Can you get me the list for Easy Company? We need to spread what little we've got around, and you and Buchanan came back with quite –"

Liebgott took the Captain's distraction as an opportunity to go after Ev alone.

As he was about to go, Roe turned deliberately away from Nixon, and locked eyes with Lieb. After a moment of intense study, Roe nodded, conveying the severity of his mission to Liebgott through the gravity in his eyes.

He was aware that Roe cared a great deal for Ev. Then again, he did too. They all did. As he took off after Sergeant Buchanan he hoped, desperately that she was just going for a walk and not shell shocked. It would be a blow to the Company – hell, to Liebgott himself – he wasn't sure he could withstand.

Liebgott followed Ev's footsteps in the snow, leading him through the fog until he caught up with her. She didn't seem to hear him when he called out softly, "Hey, Ev, you all right?"

She didn't answer. She didn't even turn around.

He watched her, curious as she dragged her fingers through the snow as if in a trance until she came up with a branch the length of a baseball bat, God knows how she found it underneath all that snow. He held his breath, wondering what on earth she was doing.

Ev, in a lackadaisical motion pulled the branch back like a batter about to swing. It hung in limbo there for a beat too long to be natural before she whipped it forward, putting strength into the swing she shouldn't have been capable of without the momentum of the backswing behind it, shattering the tree’s bark and probably denting the thing. She didn't stop, swinging the club again and again, apparently trying to hack the tree down without a blade, the sharp sound that filled the forest not unlike gunshots.

"What the fuck! C'mon Buchanan," he called, trying to gain her attention. “Snap out of it!”

She didn’t acknowledge him. She didn’t even act like she’d heard him.

The mist acted as a veil, making the scene all the more surreal. He watched with growing horror as, despite her obvious rage, the violence she was unleashing, she made not a single sound. It was eerie quiet she was, even as her shoulder shook and her body was obviously wracked with sobs she wasn’t making a single fucking sound. It was probably the thing that scared Liebgott the most about this whole terrifying ordeal.

Joe dropped his rifle and scrambled over to get her to stop before the whole German army lit up this neck of the forest because of the racket. She had to stop or they’d be in big trouble, but a part of him couldn’t believe this was even happening.

And yet, despite the danger, once he’d crossed the distance separating them, he couldn't make himself stop her. This was something she needed.

If the Krauts hadn’t opened up yet, they probably weren’t going to.

Besides, she wasn’t hurting anybody. He could let her have this expression of rage, even bear witness so it wouldn't be forgotten and swept away as nothing. It was obviously not nothing.

Something on that patrol had broken her.

Ev, who never got angry, never quit, never wavered, never failed to make them smile just when they needed to, never not there when they needed her, was fucking losing it. And Liebgott had never been so scared stiff in his whole life. What the hell were they gonna do if this ate her alive like it had so many other soldiers? If Ev really had cracked – and with the way she was acting it was likely – then he'd be seeing a lot more of it in the other men. It was like dominos, it only took one to send a lot of others to the floor, and Ev was a center piece.

The branch broke. She didn't even whimper as it splintered in her hand. She threw it away and just started beating on the damn tree with her bare fists.

Recognizing that she'd gone long past being rationally angry and into dangerous territory, his feet jolted to life, and he ran forward. When he reached the still fighting girl, he grabbed Ev's shoulder and tried to pull her away. With a tree branch was one thing, but bare knuckles on bark was only going to hurt her, not ease the pain she was feeling. Her knuckles were already oozing blood, and they couldn't afford anyone to get hurt out here with so little supplies to go around. Liebgott wasn't stupid, if they were out of food, they were out of bandages, especially with the way Doc was constantly badgering everyone for aid kits and morphine.

She resisted, throwing him off. It shouldn't have been possible; she was such a little thing.

"Cut it out, Buchanan!" he said, trying to reason with her as he tried again to pull her away. "You're gonna hurt yourself!" he said as he spun her around, but she shoved him away.

He caught the look at her face as she spun back to the tree. It was full of rage and sorrow and hurt, and there were tears streaming from her eyes even as her lips curled into a snarl, but still she made no sound. Not even one of pain despite the blood dripping from her hands. But he was also relieved in a way, as the suspicion that she might just be going crazy was swept irrevocably aside. The intensity in her eyes simply wasn't present in those who were shell shocked. She wasn't dead inside, merely grieving and angry because of it, and Liebgott understood that well enough.

Having successfully dislodged him, Ev turned towards the tree again, punching and kicking and leaving bits of herself in the bark as she held onto the only thing that made sense to her at this point, unwilling to relinquish the rage that kept the grief at bay.

"Jesus Christ! Enough!" He wrapped his arms around her as hard as he could and hauled her backwards. She struggled for a moment, kicking and flailing about, almost breaking his gasp. "Ev, calm the fuck down," he said, holding tight.

Eve gave one last struggle, before sagging in his grip. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden weight and they sank to the ground, Eve gasping for breath, and Liebgott trying to hold her together.

He pulled his friend close, cradling her head in his arms and smoothed his gloved hand over her hair as she began to sob in earnest into his jacket, finally finding a voice, thank God.

"He was seventeen, Lieb," she croaked after long moments of inconsolable sobbing, her lungs rattling with the strain, "and we just left him there. Fucking Lieutenant Peacock just left us there because fucking Dike can't give him any fucking orders!"

She could barely breathe and she was trying to talk, to explain. He appreciated the gesture even though it was unnecessary. He wasn’t going to judge her for this lapse, just as she hadn't judged him for his own lapse back in Carentan after he’d held Tipper together while his friend was in bleeding pieces that still haunted him at night.

He shushed her gently, but she shook her head and continued. "We're out here in the freezing cold and our CO doesn't give a damn about any of us. Not even the kids."

"I know, Ev. I know,” he placated. “We've just gotta hang in there."

He didn't know what else to say, so he did for her what she had done for him all those months ago in Normandy, and let her cry quietly into his jacket. Her tears froze before they reached him anyways.

-

Eve felt the tears fade into hacking coughs. She was shaking with cold and exhaustion and Liebgott was so solid in that moment she didn't want to lean away from him to spit away the gunk that came up from her lungs, but saw no other option. He let her go, patting her back gently as she heaved up mucus.

She leaned away from him to spit it on the ground in the most unladylike fashion. _If only Mother were here to offer me a handkerchief,_ she thought, the tiniest grin quirking her mouth at the image of her prim, socialite mother out here, slogging through the war with them before being replaced with a grimace of pain as she started coughing once more.

"I'm all right," she said as the last of the coughs started dying down.

"Yeah," he agreed easily, still watching her with hawk-like eyes. "We should head back once your lungs decide to stay put. Get some chow. Maybe see about getting you off the line for a bit."

Eve looked up, eyes snapping with ice despite the tears streaming down her face. She growled at him and struggled to her feet, "I don't need," she gasped, and began coughing, hacking away now that her adrenaline was down.

She got herself under control and managed to stand, brushing Liebgott away. "I don't need off the line," she insisted. Ambushed by a hiccup turned into a bubbling laugh she said, "Anyway, off the line to go where?" She glanced at him, knowing without a doubt that her eyes were bloodshot and red. "We're surrounded. There is no line. Just more fucking snow," she said bitterly. She wiped her mouth with a hand. It left a smear of blood behind. She'd busted her knuckles.

Liebgott gently took her hand and picked up some snow. Using the ice crystals and his scarf, he dabbed the blood away. Eve didn't bother telling him to knock it off. Her outburst hadn't changed anything, hadn't even made her feel better. Instead, it just left her tired and cranky.

"All right," agreed Liebgott, willing to move past getting her off the line for now. "Then explain: what the hell was that?"

Eve bit back two different angry retorts before she settled on an appropriate response. "Lieutenant Peacock left us, retreated without giving the Goddamn order, and now Julian's dead."

"Who's Julian?" asked Liebgott, eyes still on Eve's hands. It was a relief to have it confirmed that she was just furious, not in shell shock.

"The replacement from Babe's hole," she answered, voice small, remembering. "Well, he was before Peacock got infected with Dike's ineptitude, now he's dead," she said softly, too mentally exhausted for any more anger. Her anger had been an easy mask for her heartsickness, she knew herself well enough to understand that. Anger was far easier to deal with than an aching pain that would never truly heal. Because Julian was too young to die in war, they all were, and the hopelessness of their situation, the inevitability that many more people were going to be lost to this foreign soil threatened to throw her back into a rage.

"Ev, you gotta calm down," cautioned Liebgott, looking wary.

She studied him. He clearly didn't want her flying off the handle again. She supposed he was allowed to feel that way, he’d just finished patching up her busted knuckles after all.

"I'm working on it," she snapped, still trying – unsuccessfully – not to be angry. She was tired and his fussing wasn't helping. She tried to regulate her breathing, eventually letting out a sigh. "I'm all right, Lieb."

"You’re not all right," persisted Liebgott, still worried.

"Yeah, but I'm angry, not insane, so leave it alone, alright?" she snapped, tired of his mollycoddling.

He let it go without further comment. "How do your hands feel?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

Eve looked down at the cleaned abrasions. He'd done a good job. The cold snow hand numbed the area, and the melt had washed out the worst of the bark. "Fine," she answered.

"Good, then we should probably get back before they eat all the chow," said Liebgott, "and Roe's probably gonna wanna look at your hands."

"You're not to get Gene worried about my own stupidity," she told him firmly.

"Too late," he informed her. When she gave him a sharp look, he smiled a ‘ _who me_?’ smile and clapped her on the back, ruffling her hair with friendly affection.

Eve pushed his shoulder in retaliation, so he rocked back on his heels a bit, not enough to fall over or even lose his balance, but it made him give her a more genuine smile. She bent down to scoop up her helmet and rifle, replacing her headgear and frowning as Liebgott picked up his own weapon from where he'd dropped it a few paces away. While her negligence could be attributed to her blind rage, Liebgott certainly knew better than to drop his rifle to the ground for any reason. She just didn’t have the heart to scold him about it now.

He swung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close for warmth. It made her feel infinitely better and worse at the same time. Eve was bitterly ashamed that she'd worried him, and eternally grateful that he was here.

"Besides," she huffed ruefully, thinking of the others back at camp who probably had more right to sorrow than she did. "Heffron could probably use some company." She avoided his gaze but felt him nod and let him lead her back to camp.

No longer blind with rage and grief, Eve was confronted by the glaring issues that had pushed her so far. A lot of it was down to exhaustion. She hadn't been able to sleep properly since she'd been moved up to cover the edge of the line. There was very little food to go around anymore. The scrounging she'd done today might ease that for a little while, but it couldn't hold out forever. The biting, relentless cold constantly gnawed away at her.

All that, and then there was what happened today.

How could Peacock abandon them like that? Like some useless replacement officer who didn't know a patrol from a walk in the park. He'd been around long enough to know better. Weren't they abandoned often enough by Dike? Peacock should know; he spent half his fucking day looking for that goldbrick! But rather than lead a patrol, he'd done the stupidest thing he possibly could: fucked off back to the CP, leaving Martin alone in the field so he could make a report on action that was still fucking happening.

It was a product of Dike's piss poor leadership style. Because Dike didn't know what to do, couldn't manage to give a definitive order for any of the combat patrols he'd ordered, Peacock felt the need to constantly check in to make sure he was doing what was necessary. If Winters was in charge, he'd have been with them in case something went wrong, as he'd been the day Blithe had been hit on Normandy all those months ago.

It made her feel sick to her stomach. She forced the feeling down and away. It would do absolutely no good to vomit right now, and she didn't have any food in her to spit up anyway.

She took a deep breath, searching for calm. As she let it out, she tried to blow away her fury as well. She needed to move past this rage if she was going to function properly as a sergeant. She could do nothing less for her men. They had to have at least one leader who cared about them and knew what she was doing.

It was the only thing she could do: look after her men.

So she let her anger go, left it behind to be buried in the snow with all the rest of the bloody anger in Bastogne.

But she vowed to never forgive Peacock for this, or forget it, and to shield her men from incompetent leaders like him to the best of her ability for as long as she was able.

It meant that when she got back to camp, she had to have a level head. She’d have to bury her rage and hatred and press on as if nothing had happened. It was the only way to survive out here.

The walk back to camp passed in silence, neither Eve nor Liebgott mentioning what had just happened or thinking about what might happen tomorrow.

They were still here, and for now, that would have to be enough.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a tough one. I hope you all liked it. Thank you all so much for reading and your continued support. Updates are every Thursday.


	30. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve realizes the shortcomings in command and loses the battle for control of her own emotions.
> 
> "Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over." – Octavia Butler
> 
> Now: The weight of being surrounded in the dead of winter is pulling at Easy Company as they try to hold each other together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman did fantastic work to bring this chapter to you guys.

-Chapter 30-

The walk back to camp was a quiet one. Neither Eve nor Liebgott felt the need to discuss what had happened out there in the woods.

There was no need.

It didn’t take long to get back to Easy’s position. From there, it was easy to see where the guys from the patrol had gathered together just away from the general bustle of the rest of the company, seeking comfort in their shared despair.

Eve drifted away from Liebgott as soon as they rejoined the group. Partly because she felt ashamed she’d broken down in front of him and needed to re-establish a boundary of respect. But mostly she just felt hollow and exhausted all over again, her grief returning afresh with the mourning silence that dominated the usually vibrant group. On any other occasion, the boys would have been laughing, giggling, and having a good time – as they had managed all along, despite the horrible conditions they faced – but today, those sounds of gayety were smothered by the memory of the boy they'd been forced to leave behind.

Eve wondered how many of them were also wondering if it would happen to them next.

Without conscious thought, Eve found herself next to Bull.

Ever since their adventure in Holland, Bull had been a pillar of safety, comfort, and even security, and just now, she felt like she was still about to fly apart at the seams.

She sat down next to the bulky man with a weary sigh and scrubbed a hand over her face, unsuccessfully trying to erase the evidence of her tears.

Bull, saint that he was, said nothing as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into the hug, feeling fragile now that she was surrounded by her comrades grief-stricken faces.

She looked at the ground to avoid the worried looks directed at her. She felt ashamed that she'd gone off alone to rant and cry when the others had come together. Granted, she wasn't First Platoon. She shouldn't have been on the patrol at all but their numbers had dwindled so much that she’d ended up helping out wherever she could.

She didn’t – hadn't – even known the kid that well. But the unbearable heartbreak on Babe's face, who'd been close to Julian – buddies from basic and then sharing a foxhole on the line – was excruciating.

Eve felt the heat of an assessing stare and looked up to find Gene's piercing gaze. She mustered a smile for him, but she was too ashamed to properly meet his eyes.

She considered moving to sit next to the medic, but after studying his face, she decided against it. From the way he hunched in on himself, shoulders up around his ears, face drawn into a worried frown, he wanted some space. He was deliberately sitting just beyond the group, not actually a part of it; his own plea for privacy.

She bit her lip and decided to place her worry for him aside for the moment. She was in no state to help him anyway with her own emotions so volatile. It broke her heart that Gene was isolating himself, but she understood – especially after what she’d just gone through with Liebgott.

Roe did his best to take care of them when they were screaming in agony, and if doing that required a little bit of distance, well she certainly couldn't begrudge him that.

She'd realized in this isolated week in hell that Roe withdrew himself on principle and emphasized this distance whenever they lost someone. Eve wondered if he thought they would blame him somehow for losing the man. If he thought Julian's death was somehow his fault, despite the fact that he hadn't even been there.

 _Perhaps that’s the problem,_ Eve thought. _Gene blames himself for not being there to help despite Martin ordering him to stay behind._

Eve swallowed fresh tears. _Maybe if Gene had been there, Julian would've made it._

She hated herself for the thought. It wasn’t Gene's fault.

Hell, it wasn't really Peacock's fault either.

It was the terrible price of war that good men had to die. All she or any of the boys could do was hold on and pray they made it through.

It wasn't going to be enough for some people, but that was all in God's hands.

-

Bull politely didn't notice the way Ev’s hands trembled as she wiped away the smallest of overflowing tears. She sniffed, causing a cough that she hid in her hands. He patted her on the back, letting her lean away from him for some space.

He was worried about her. She hadn't looked too good when she'd gone storming off; the blank look on her face – almost vacant in the way of the mentally fatigued, the shell-shocked guys who’d be pulled off the line to disappear forever – nearly as terrifying as the cracking of wood on wood that had come from that direction only a few minutes later.

Lieb had already gone after her though, and Bull had let them be.

Lieb could be trusted to look after Ev.

He tried not to notice the cuts on her knuckles, either. Doc Roe would likely take care of that once he noticed, and it was never long with Roe. Bull was half convinced the medic had informants whispering to him about ailments among their comrades. Roe kept such watch of Ev as well, that Bull was certain that the Doc wouldn’t fail to notice the state of the woman’s hands.

Bull gnawed on his cigar and rubbed on his forehead, using the motion to subtly swipe his own tears away if anyone looked too close.

He couldn’t start thinking about what-if and why-for’s. Dwelling on things he couldn’t change wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference.

He knew the image of a boy, barely old enough to shave, bleeding from a gushing wound in his neck, futilely grasping to keep the blood inside his body as he became weaker and weaker as they abandoned him to the unforgiving winter cold, would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Already, every time he blinked he saw Julian gurgling in pain and panic as the kid reached out for them – for him – and leaving him behind.

He wondered if he couldn't have done something, got to the kid some way if he'd been a better soldier. Logically, he knew it had been impossible – Julian was dead the moment the Krauts hit him out in the open, never mind how serious the wound was – but the traitorous thoughts lingered.

Winters joined them from the CP, approaching the group of downtrodden men like a specter, ghosting up just when they needed a friendly face, a show from someone who was their leader, who cared about them.

It confirmed again what Bull already knew: Winters was a great man.

Martin met their captain and reported the loss of Julian. "We couldn't get to him, Captain. We tried, Babe tried," he said nodding to the broken redhead with bright sympathetic eyes, "but we couldn't get to him."

Bull looked away ashamed. His eyes found the fat, floating snowflakes to try and keep himself distracted for a little while.

The quiet wasn’t going to last for long before the Germans decided to come knocking once more.

-

Eve watched Gene as he spared Babe a long, assessing look. She had to admit that Babe didn't look too good. He'd been coughing, like a lot of them were now, but even from here she could tell that he’d stopped trying to ward off the cold, leaving his head and ears foolishly exposed to the elements even as he hugged his knees close for warmth – or perhaps it was for comfort.

"Hey, Bull, Ev," said Winters, suddenly above her. Eve met his tired face, lined with more strain than she could ever remember seeing from him. His bright blue eyes were anguished like the rest of them. "I'm gonna sit in here with you guys."

Eve swallowed and gave a compulsory nod before letting her gaze drift to stare deliberately at nothing. She was afraid of the disappointment she was sure she'd see on Winters face, in her, in all of them.

Instead, he bumped her shoulder and gave her a small smile when she instinctively met his eyes. She didn't feel up to giving him one back but tried anyway. Some of the concern in his eyes lightened at the upward twitch of her lips, and she took it as an accomplishment.

Lightening Winters's load was always an accomplishment.

When she looked back over at Roe, he was staring at his bag. She watched with sharp eyes as he pulled out a bar of chocolate. _The one he got from the nurse in Bastogne_ , she remembered.

She turned away as he brought the bar to his nose to inhale the bittersweet scent, trying to give him a private moment. Eve vaguely wished she had enough chocolate left over from Paris to spare a bit for her own comfort.

What she did have, she didn't dare touch. She’d decided early on this debacle to divide her stockpile that she’d kept over the years into Christmas presents for the boys, probably the only ones they'd see in this place. She’d distributed what she’d bought in Paris before they’d pulled out of Mourmelon, but she’d been keeping a stockpile for herself in reserve out of habit, for bribes and the like.

She’d valiantly not touched it when her cycle started up a few days ago, and she wasn’t going to touch it now.

(She'd never been more thankful for the disposable feminine supplies she’d only barely remembered on her way out of Paris. It was much easier fighting through the frozen earth to bury the soiled disposables than trying to wash them in water they didn't have, and then somehow dry without the napkin freezing solid or being blown to hell.)

She wished fervently that she hadn’t been so liberal in passing out the chocolate before leaving Mourmelon. It had seemed wise at the time, but she longed for a bit of extra chocolate for herself, to make herself feel better. Even the smell was often enough to brighten her mood, and she desperately needed something for that.

Still, she wouldn't even dream of asking for some from Gene.

He already had too few reasons to keep going out here. He needed all the mood brightening he could get.

Thank God for nurses and chocolate.

-

That night, Eve found Babe shivering alone in his foxhole, staring blankly at the corner Julian must have sat in just a few hours ago.

"Hey, Babe," said she, sliding down in next to him, the ice cold, damp dirt falling down her ODs and itching fiercely against her skin. She was used to the uncomfortable sensation by now, though, and just shoved her hands into her armpits. She had no idea where her fucking gloves had gone, but by now they were probably buried under a foot of snow somewhere.

Babe didn't acknowledge her, but his head cocked a bit at the disturbance, so there was some hope. Some of the guys who went into shell-shock just disappeared completely into their own head. That Babe was acknowledging her at all was a good sign.

She tucked him under her arm and coaxed his head to rest on her shoulder. His damp breath and spit tickled her neck as his tears came in a rush all at once, his intermittent coughing wracking his frame and making him gag. Eve hoped he didn't puke on her, but she wasn't going to mention it if he did. Babe’s entire body shook with his pain. He cried himself out as she held him, and if she cried too, he was too good to mention it.

An hour later, Babe was still stoically tucked into her side, composure and forlorn daze returned after the brief outpouring of emotion. Eve had done her best to just listen to him rage and cry without judgment, the way Liebgott had for her, but she knew she wasn’t enough. Babe needed to be reminded that he still had friends out here, a reminder that he wasn't alone. He'd needed some human comfort, and she might have needed that too.

But she and Babe had never been close. He needed another outlet, someone who knew him, and what he and Julian had been – the very best of friends who, after many solitary nights, learned everything about each other.

She knew him well enough to know that he would never go to anyone else for the comfort he desperately needed on his own.

She quickly ran through the list of Babe’s friends.

There was obviously Guarnere, but the Italian definitely wasn’t someone she'd want to see her crying, and she doubted Babe felt differently, so he was out. Babe was probably closest with Ralph Spina, the other medic in Easy, after Guarnere and the other replacements.

After a moment of thought, Eve decided that Spina was probably the best choice.

"Come on," she said.

Babe obediently got up. He was almost listless. Eve was well acquainted with the feeling.

She led the compliant Babe to the medic's hole. Eve slid into the hole first, Babe right behind her.

Spina was waiting for them. He took one look at Babe and shot Eve a grateful glance. She scanned the hole and realized that Gene was missing. She might've worried about him, but couldn't find the strength. Gene could take care of himself.

And she was too fragile to take care of anyone else right now, hence bringing Babe to Spina.

"Hey, buddy," said Spina as Babe sat down without prompting. The medic pulled the Private into his side and spread his blanket out to share.

Eve waited until they were both settled and Spina gave her a nod before she left. She desperately wanted to get back to her hole and sack out now that she knew Babe was in good hands.

She was exhausted.

The night was frigid.

Eve pulled her hands into the sleeves of her jacket and once again wondered how she could have been so careless as to lose her gloves. She had no hope of finding them, and she'd never longed so fiercely for an article of clothing. She'd put her plan of making some for Roe on hold since Toye had needed her spare socks for his feet. Plus, realistically, the socks wouldn’t have done much good as gloves in the snow. Most of the men had purposefully abandoned their cloth jump gloves when they’d gotten soaked through because there was no way to dry them out. Fire was a bad idea, because it gave the Germans an excuse to start shelling their position again.

Eve’s leather gloves had been better, if only just, but she’d misplaced them in a hurry one day – she never should’ve taken them off in the first place if she was being honest – but they were gone with no chance of ever being found, so she resigned herself to cold hands.

When she finally found her hole, she pulled up the tarp that covered the mouth and slid in, dirt and cold once more wriggling into her clothes to itch. She was almost surprised to find Liebgott already waiting for her, a grin on his face when she rolled her eyes.

She should have known he'd find a way to check on her.

Resigned, Eve sat next to him, shedding her helmet with a sigh and leaning against the dirt.

Lieb distributed the blankets that had accumulated in her foxhole while she was gone. She suspected Gene, but wouldn't put it past Bull or Liebgott himself to have furnished an extra blanket or two. Whoever had done it, she was grateful for it now. The cold had frozen her to the bone. Lieb wrapped her up, tucking the blanket under his shoulders and calves like her mother had when she was sick, slinging his arm around her shoulders as they settled in.

Eve closed her eyes, grateful to be off her feet for the first time in what felt like days. She was more than ready for this wretched day to be over. A part of her feared that Julian’s death throes would be waiting to haunt her once she closed her eyes, but she was asleep before her head lolled onto Liebgott’s shoulder.

-

Gene was worried about Heffron. He'd looked pretty distraught earlier, and he wasn't in his hole when the medic had gone by to check on him.

All sorts of scenarios ran through his head. Symptoms of battle fatigue sometimes included self mutilation out of desperation to get off the line. There was also the possibility that Babe had just upped and wandered off. He hoped the redhead had more sense than to wander off into the woods at night, but grief could do funny things to a man. If he had wandered off, Heffron would probably freeze to death before Gene could catch up to him and after today, well, Gene didn't think the guys could handle that.

He wondered if Ev had seen the kid. She was a good bet to know where the kid had gone.

Somehow she always knew. He wasn’t sure if it was because the guys in the company always seemed to find her, or if she found them, but he had a fair gamble of finding any guy who'd had a rough time in Ev's foxhole. Gene often found himself being pulled there – perhaps by God, or perhaps by good sense, particularly on days when guys too young to even vote died and there was nothing he could do to save them – when he was in need of a rekindling his hope.

He’d never be able to tell anyone how she did it or what exactly she did that always put him at ease, but it was true nonetheless.

Roe had been worried about her after the patrol, but he'd had his hands full with that injured man, and then Captain Nixon's inventory request. Liebgott had gone after her, though, and Gene knew that of anyone in Easy, Liebgott was probably the man she was closest to, and the most likely to calm her down. The medic wasn't entirely sure how their friendship worked, but it was well known that Liebgott could be trusted to look out for Ev.

He looked down and found himself at the hole he remembered Ev had been using this afternoon.

Most likely, she was still in it, but the guys had shifted around, Ev more than anyone for some reason, and it was hard to keep track. It was impossible to know for sure who was in any given foxhole without ducking under the tarp. Unfortunately, more often than not, this meant waking everyone trying to sleep inside, depriving already exhausted men of badly needed rest. There was nothing for it. He lifted the tarp and slid inside, immediately feeling warmer thanks to the heat from the two bodies already in the hole.

Ev was there, curled up with Liebgott, which he might've guessed, but no Heffron.

Liebgott gave Roe a quick smile. "Hey Doc," he said at a whisper. "You lookin' for Ev?"

"Kind of," admitted the medic quietly. "Heffron actually, but I thought I'd check on her while I was at it." He shot Liebgott a stern glare. "You wanna tell me what happened on your walk today?"

Liebgott knew better than to hold out on Roe. "She lost it for a bit, started wailing on a tree." He met Roe's eyes. "Scariest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Roe cocked an eyebrow.

"Bare hands, Doc," Liebgott informed him.

Roe nodded, pretending like he understood why his closest friend decided to go at it bare fisted with a tree, pretending like that was normal so that he didn't dwell on the fact that had it been even a little less private, if someone other than Liebgott – who was so loyal to Ev – saw, she'd be off the line for shell-shock or fatigue immediately – and most likely shipped home.

Funny how the thought seemed so dreadful now.

"Anything else?"

"Still coughin'. She's pretty exhausted too, fell asleep on me earlier."

"All right," said Roe, shaking Ev's shoulder. He needed her awake so he could check on her hands. Right now they were tucked tight in her armpits, and he’d need a crowbar to pry them loose.

Ev woke with a groan. "What?" she croaked, blinking hard. It took her longer than usual to notice him, which was of concern. "Gene?" she whispered when dazed blue eyes finally landed on the medic.

"Hey, Ev," said Roe with a soft smile he didn’t manage to muster for anyone else out here.

"What're you doin' here?" she asked, still blinking away sleep.

"I need to check your hands."

"My hands?" she questioned, slipping the trembling appendages free.

Gene grabbed on appendage and took note of the dried blood that had dripped between her fingers from swollen knuckles with concerned eyes. He assumed the trembling at least could be attributed to the cold, but if Ev had broken the bones in her knuckles or fingers, there was nothing he could do for her – he may even need to pull her from the line.

At this point, he wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing or a bad one – he was tired of watching his friends die, and he didn’t even want to imagine it being Ev under his hands as she slipped away – but it was a moot point while they were surrounded. There was nowhere for any of them to go but straight into the German’s line.

Plus, he didn’t want to think about the consequences on Easy Company’s morale if Ev got pulled from the line for an injury.

He looked the hand over gently, manipulating it into a fist and probing the swollen areas gently as he watched her face.

Gene tried to straighten one of her fingers, freezing when her face contorted with pain. "Sorry," he apologized, quickly letting go. "You probably fractured the bone there. Nothin' I can do for 'em.”

Ev gave him a tight smile. "It's fine."

"Let me see your other hand," said Gene. She let him have it and hissed when he poked at her split knuckles this time. "Did that hurt?" he asked, prodding at her scabbed knuckles.

"You're poking my wounds, Gene. Yes, it fucking hurts," she hissed with a glare, trying to yank her hand back.

Gene smiled and was surprised by his own laughter. "Sorry," he drawled catching her hand and pulling it back so he could get another look. She let him have it with a petulant glare that made him bite back another smile.

He shot a glance at Liebgott, who was chuckling too now.

Ev shot the other man a betrayed look before turning baleful eyes back on Roe. "Don't you even think about wasting a bandage on my stupidity, Gene. I earned those cuts, I earned the time it'll take to heal ‘em too, and the pain that comes along with it," she told him, taking her hand back.

Gene stared at her, searching her eyes. "Okay," he said and settled in next to her. He smiled as he felt Ev's head hit his shoulder, her body folding against his and almost petulantly attempting to spread a blanket over him.

"I don't know what it is about you, Gene," she said, her voice almost more of a hum than words.

He shifted, bending his neck at an awkward angle to see her clearly, taking in her closed eyes and peaceful expression, the lines in her face easing and shedding away what looked like hard years of struggle to leave behind a gentle young woman as she slipped towards sleep.

"What's that?" he prompted when Ev didn’t continue after a long moment.

"Hm? Oh. Your hands Gene. They're restful."

He traded a look with Liebgott, not sure what she was talking about.

Liebgott shrugged his shoulders, clueless too.

"Restful, huh?" said Roe.

"Yeah, you're a good medic, Gene," she sighed with a content smile. "Where'd you learn to be such a good medic, Gene?"

Roe figured Ev was sleep drunk; spouting off things as they came to her mind but without conscious thought behind them. She might not even remember having said them later. It was oddly comforting since it made her seem young and careless. He'd never known her to be either of those things when conscious.

"In Louisiana, we have Cajun healers called _traiteurs_. My grandmother was a _traiteurs_ ," he said, deciding to humor her. He didn't see how it could hurt and he'd never seen her like this before. It was more than a little funny.

"Your grandmother?" she said with a bit of a slur. He watched, bemused, as Ev sat up suddenly to give him an intense look, every blink taking longer and longer before her eyes opened again.

"Yep. She laid her hands on people and cured 'em. She asked God to take away the pain she pulled out of people. She pulled out sickness, cancer, you name it, and asked Him to carry it away." He gave a laugh that sounded more like a hiss of air as he saw his grandmother's smiling face behind his eyes, soothing him as she had as a child. He swallowed the image down, unwilling to bring even her memory to this place. "That's what she did."

"You have that gift too," said she, with a smile.

Gene laughed bitterly.

He didn't believe her, mostly because she was talking nonsense – Ev was definitely more than half-asleep – but also because he was nothing like his grandmother. She'd never let someone die under her hands; not like him. He couldn't heal everyone who asked, everyone who needed it, who screamed and begged for it, not even the friends that he loved.

Ev grabbed his hand, fiercely shaking it to emphasize her point. "It’s true!"

He bit down a smile, but shot Liebgott another loaded glance, inviting the other man to share the joke.

Ev continued, completely missing the men’s indulgent expressions. "You put your hands on people and it calms them down. You cure their minds of the fear that war brings. They know in their soul that you’re there to help them, that you won't rest until either you do, or they're in God's hands, where there is no pain. If that isn't a gift in this God forsaken war, then I'm not sure what is."

"It's a very painful gift," said Gene. He tried to keep his voice light, but from the heavy knowing look she gave him, severe despite her drooping eyelids and the sharp glance from Liebgott, he hadn't succeeded. A part of his soul ached every day for those he couldn’t save. Sometimes comfort wasn’t enough.

“‘God only gives tests he knows we can pass.’” Ev quoted, sinking back down until her head was on his shoulder once more. “He wouldn’t burden you with something you couldn’t survive, Gene.”

Roe stared at the woman, half asleep on his shoulder and speaking like a prophet. He didn't know if she really was touched by God, but what she said resonated with him, sending a wave of feeling all the way down into his bones.

“I got a story that’ll make you laugh,” Roe said, wondering if his friend would manage to keep awake through the whole story or if he should save it for another time.

Ev forced lagging eyes open again, blinking sleepily at him. He almost regretted keeping her awake, but he didn’t want her dwelling on his problems when she was supposed to be resting. She was still sick herself, even if she thought she was hiding it from him.

“What’s the story, Doc?” said Liebgott. He looked worn around the edges too.

They both needed a laugh.

“I was in town at the hospital. There was a kid, a sergeant, laying on a homemade stretcher. He had a colt .45 on him, and he’s just been waiting there a while I guess, waiting for a bed. Anyway the radio was on and turns over to Bing Crosby, singing “White Christmas.” The sergeant whipped out his gun and blew the radio to pieces with one shot, hollering, “Come over here, you son of a bitch, I’ll give you a white Christmas!’” Roe tried to imitate the kids accent, but was pretty sure he’d missed it.

Ev’s raucous laughter was sharp before she buried the sound in her hand. Liebgott made no effort to hide his own amusement.

Roe smiled, satisfied.

Ev's eyes fluttered closed and she whispered one last sentiment into his collar. "I'm glad you're here, Gene."

And she was asleep.

"For what it's worth, Doc," said Liebgott. "I'm glad you're here too."

Gene didn't know what to say to that. He nodded simply, which satisfied the man.

He let himself enjoy the quiet for a few minutes before carefully shifting Ev’s weight over to Liebgott, the exhausted woman moving willingly at his coaxing in a show of trust that touched him deeply.

Though a part of him longed to stay here, in the safety and company of his friends, he needed to find Heffron, especially since the kid wasn't here.

"I gotta go find Heffron. You seen him?" he asked once the woman was settled, realizing that Liebgott had never actually answered him before.

"No," said Liebgott softly so he didn't wake Ev.

"All right, thanks," said Roe as he crawled out of the hole. "Take care of her?"

"Always, Doc," said Liebgott as Roe closed the flap over his friends, lingering just long enough to send a prayer to God that he’d watch over those two for him.

The wind howled. Roe shoved his hands into his pockets and shivered. He needed to find Heffron and get to his own hole before he became a human popsicle.

Figuring he must’ve returned from patrol by now if someone had been cruel or kind enough to give the kid something to do – and patrol’s the only place anybody ever went out here – Roe circled back to Babe's hole.

Nothing.

 _Fuck_.

There was nothing for it. Roe started systematically checking through the covered holes, ducking into them and disturbing their sometimes sleeping occupants as he searched for the missing private.

 _Where the hell did Heffron go?_ he wondered.

Out of the fog appeared a figure. Roe almost immediately knew that the man wasn’t the enemy – not the right shape. He ran forward.

As he got closer, his traitorous heart clamored that he’d finally found his quarry, relief sparking through him. Surely it could only be the person he was looking for? He’d accounted for just about everyone else.

"Heffron?" he called as he got into earshot.

The figure came into focus once he was within a few feet of the man. It wasn’t Heffron, but Joe Toye, sitting on a log outside his foxhole.

"Toye?"

-

A mortar round jolted Eve awake with a gasp.

She blinked in confusion. Liebgott was still asleep next to her, somehow managing to sleep through the ground shaking. In deference to the man’s obvious exhaustion, Eve tried to leave the hole as quietly as possible. He could use all the sleep he could get.

She stretched as she fit the brisk morning air, luxuriating in the sunlight, not really _warm_ but certainly less frigid than before.

The zipping roar of planes sailing by drew her gaze and she suddenly realized what should’ve been immediately obvious: there was sunlight streaking through the trees, caressing the snow and earth like a long lost friend.

_The fog is gone! Thank God._

The sound of the plane propellers, growing louder with each second, cut through the air. Eve ran for them with more than half the camp emptying behind her. It took no time at all to reach the edge of the forest and start scanning the open, blessedly blue skyline for American planes.

It was well known that the German air power had been all but destroyed before the invasion. It certainly would’ve been a hell of a lot harder to take Normandy if the Kraut’s had been in any shape to do damage or defend themselves from the sky. The Allies had been the uncontested rulers of the air for months now.

If you heard a plane, there was a good chance that it belonged to the Allies.

Elated, Eve scanned the crowd of eager soldiers for her friends. It didn’t take long for her to find Roe, standing next to First Sergeant Lipton, towards the center of the clumping soldiers.

She joined them and gave the men the biggest smile she could muster, greeting them with a quiet, but reverent, "Halleluiah."

Easy Company launched red smoke grenades for the planes, so the pilots could find their location, to let the boys in the air know they were still alive down here.

The fighter planes turned over and came back – seeing the smoke. The men cheered.

A plane dived, sending a barrage of screaming bullets down the along the tree line right for them.

Eve dived, scrambling for her gun.

It was missing.

She’d left it in her foxhole.

 _Idiot_! she cursed. _Stupid! What’s the first rule of basic training? Don’t drop your gun? And I plum forgot it in the middle of a siege! Goddamn it! I know better._

She looked up, and screamed, “Gene!”

Her friend hadn’t moved, still completely exposed to the hail of bullets.

He was going to be shot right in front of her. She was going to watch him die, riddled with holes, and there was nothing she could do about it without her fucking gun!

Lipton seized Gene, and yanked the still stunned medic back under the tree cover.

Eve heaved a breath as her heart lurched and then tried to re-establish a normal rhythm.

 _Thank God_ , she prayed, putting her face into the dirt. _Thank you, God._

The other soldiers started firing back at the planes – they couldn’t just sit here and take the abuse, they didn’t have enough people as it was. Early on, they’d been told not to wave at the passing planes. From the sky the pilots didn’t – couldn’t – know friend from foe, and they were trained to shoot anything that moved.

In their elation at finally seeing the much missed aircraft, they’d all forgotten. Even Eve.

She lay on the ground and cursed herself over for being stupid enough to forget her gun as their own plans strafed them again.

"I don't understand!” cried Gene. “Those are our own planes!"

By some miracle, the fighters veered off and didn't make another pass.

A deeper sound filled the air, a sound she'd know anywhere. She looked up.

"C-47s," said Lip, confirming Eve's thoughts, her hopes. "They're making a drop!"

Eve's eyes fluttered closed in relief. They were gonna make it.

-

Some of the stuff hit them, but the drop zone was Bastogne. Gene took a whole squad into the town to pick up supplies. She gathered up the now empty packs she’d gathered up on her last foray into Bastogne and handed them over to the fellas going back into town with Gene. Sure, there would be boxes they could pack, but every little bit helped.

“Make sure you fill it up, all right?” she told the kid she handed the bags to.

He was a young guy, with dark hair and a skittish look about him. He’d only joined them recently right before they’d been pulled into this mess. She thought his name might be Webb, not to be confused with the absent Webster from Toccoa (who must have been injured more severely than she’d thought since he still hadn’t made it back from the hospital).

She shook her head to clear it and refocused on the kid. “Steal it if you have to," she told him. "We may never see another drop like this one. We're going to need all the help we can get."

Eve helped organize the men who’d stayed behind into patrols and sent them out to scout the woods for any supplies that had dropped short and landed in the woods.

It kept her occupied until Gene came back with the supplies a few hours later.

There was something different about her friend. For some reason, he seemed even more fractured than when he'd left, which was ridiculous, considering they'd just been resupplied.

Eve was about to go over and make him talk to her when duty pulled her away.

“Buchanan?” called Lipton.

Without a choice, Eve went, determined that she’d find Gene and talk to him later.

She just hoped he would be okay until then.

-

Later that night, Roe was doing his rounds. Now that they'd been resupplied, they finally had enough blankets to go around. He had another two blankets, and he knew who needed them most.

Ev had been coughing.

She seemed to think she was hiding it from him and the rest of the Company.

He figured that was the reason she’d slipped away to sleep in an isolated hole on the line last night. Besides it not being a good idea to be all alone on the line, let alone trying to sleep out there, it also meant that she wasn’t keeping warm. Guys were freezing to death at night, and she’d had the gall to disappearing after supper time to go off by herself.

It didn’t take Roe long to find her.

Sure enough, she was alone, curled into the tiniest ball a human could and shaking so hard he thought she might be having a seizure.

He slid into the hole. She didn't even notice.

So he shook her shoulder to wake her up. She still didn't move.

It was starting to scare him.

Roe slid a blanket over her, tucking it tight around her. He added a second blanket over top of it for good measure and settled down next to her. She automatically moved closer to him seeking warmth, letting out a sigh when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer to give her a bit more of his warmth.

He watched as her shivering lessened almost immediately, going still under his arm.

Roe’s mind drifted back to Bastogne, and the man who’d gone still under his hands only a few hours ago. He tried to ignore the memory of having one hand deep inside the man’s guts, trying to pinch together an artery as his other hand scrambled to clear the slopping blood out of his way and secure a bandage. He could still feel the slick, thick blood even now, hours after he’d tried to wash it off. He knew it didn’t make any difference. His hands were just as red as Renee’s – the beautiful nurse he’d left there to deal with the dead and dying all around her.

A shiver wracked him. Roe held onto Ev a little tighter, willing his mind to move to other subjects.

He knew that Ev would be redistributing the blankets in the morning, but she'd have them for the night at least.

Now if he could just keep her off the goddamn line and in a foxhole with someone else.

 _Maybe Guarnere will be willing to help me keep her off the line?_ he thought. _Not that she’ll accept for long, but a while might help._

Ev was stubborn. She wasn’t going to stay off the line and they didn’t have the man power to make it any more than a suggestion that she do so.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He turned into Ev’s warmth and hoped that his dreams would be empty of sorrow tonight.

It took awhile, but he finally fell asleep, Renee's trembling smile as she tried to convey the depth of her sorrow for his failure lingering in his dreams.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos for this story. I can't believe this story is on the first page of kudos sorts! Comments and feedback are very welcome as well. 
> 
> I appreciate each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart. Updates every Thursday.


	31. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve dealt with the aftermath of her emotional outburst and spent time with her friends. 
> 
> Strength shows not only the ability to persist, but also the ability to start again. – Ritu Ghatourey
> 
> “Sometimes you don’t realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.”– Susan Gale
> 
> Now: Roe has a hard time as Easy Company celebrates Christmas in Bastogne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's for this chapter: Atman, FandomlyCroft, and Laura001 helped me whip this one into shape. All the love to them.
> 
> This is a bit of a long one. I warn you now, things only get rougher from here on in.

-Chapter 31-

It was Eve's turn in the OP. She was with Buck, Babe, and Bill. Snow fell softly, luminescent in the moonlight against the pitch dark night as the foursome watched the tree-line where they knew the Germans were waiting for them.

"Now we know how they felt," Buck said.

Eve jumped. The lieutenant had just started talking out of the blue. She swatted at Bill, who was laughing at her.

"What-Who?" Babe asked, turning to look at the blond man.

Eve kept her eyes back on the line, still fighting embarrassment at being so obviously startled, but cocked an ear in Buck's direction. At least Babe hadn't noticed her jumping into the air like some green recruit, thank God for that; she might’ve never lived it down, especially with Bill spurring him on.

"The Legionnaires," Buck said, elaborating on the stray thought. "When they were watching the Huns. Goths, the Visigoths."

 _Oh, that story,_ thought Eve, remembering a vague history lesson from once upon a time. _Huh, I hadn't really thought about it before, but he’s right. This is the same spot._

Buck’s musing brought home the fact that she was actually in Europe, where all those battles she'd read about, learned by heart as a child, were fought. After a while, the different countries all started to look the same, reminding her perversely of home and being as far from it as possible all at the same time.

To think that she was in the same forest as those terrified, doomed, Roman soldiers was sobering, horrifying.

She'd always hated the story.

Of the several ancient civilizations that existed, Rome was probably her favorite. Somehow, despite the violence and blood in Rome, the civilization had been one of the most successful civilizations that had ever existed.

A lot of that was Rome building off the foundation of the Greeks, and yet the Romans were driven by conquest, by war.

Eve had always loved the idea of war – the power and influence that it gave.

She knew better now.

After experiencing firsthand the misery that came with being a soldier, sent to fight and watch her friends die for some goal that existed only on paper, she’d never be able to think of war as a glorious pursuit again.

The Sack of Rome by the Visigoths signified the beginnings of the Dark Ages; where violence and ignorance reigned. Would that be their fate? Was this war the end of modern civilization like the Goths were the end of Rome?

"Visigoths? Jesus Christ," said Bill, pulling Eve from her thoughts.

"Ah, barbarians," clarified Buck. The other two guys nodded. "They came right through here, right through these trees, just sweeping down to burn the shit out of Rome."

 _Jesus_. She had goose bumps on her arms. The similarities of just waiting here, desperately holding on so the Germans didn't sweep through them to burn the shit out of Bastogne were things she did _not_ want to think about.

"That's a hell of a long ride," said Guarnere.

She laughed softly, her dark mood effectively broken. He grinned back.

"So," said Babe, sensing that it was time to change the subject properly. "What was college like, Buck? You got time to hit the books with the cheerleaders running their fingers through your hair?" Eve could hear the shiver in Babe's voice. His helmet was nearly white it had so much frost on it.

"No, Babe, I-" Buck paused to swallow hard. "I can't even remember."

"Maybe Ev'll run her fingers through your hair?" said Bill, reaching over to push her shoulder.

She tumbled into Buck, not expecting the sudden shove. She regained her balance quickly, getting off the lieutenant so she could smack Bill more viciously this time. He flinched out of the way and she only managed to get him on the helmet with her bare hand. It wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done. It mildly annoyed Guarnere, but her hand stung fiercely, snow now clinging to her skin. She shook it, hoping to dissipate the feeling.

Bill laughed at her, sharp enough to see the way her lips were twitching up, Babe only a beat behind. Eve's eyes cut to the lieutenant and caught him smiling. Buck's smile was small, but genuine, and it was the first real smile she'd seen from him all week.

"Fuck off, Gonorrhea," she bit, facing the line again, ignoring the boys sniggering behind her.

There was a soft grunt behind them, snow crunched under the weight of a man coming up on their rear.

Babe, Bill, and Eve all whirled around, guns ready to blow the guy to hell. Buck stayed frozen in his spot, staring at the barren land that marked the line.

"Hey, it's Doc," said Roe right before Eve was going to pull the trigger. "Ev," he greeted, blatantly disregarding the fact that he'd nearly been shot. "Sergeant, Heffron, Lieutenant."

Gene passed them several of the blankets they'd acquired during the drop. He stayed just long enough to tell them to wrap up before he was off again to take care of some other soldiers on the line. He didn't even stay to chat, so Eve knew he probably had a destination in mind. She hoped it wasn't Lipton or Winters. If either of those two got ill, or wounded – _God forbid_ – the entire company would fall apart around their ears.

Bill watched him go. "He never calls anybody by their nickname, 'cept Ev," he qualified, passing out the blankets. He tucked one around Eve's shoulders, even as she tensed up, ready to defend her friend.

"He once called me Edward," Babe confessed before she’d even opened her mouth.

"Is that right?" asked Bill, still fussing with unfolding the blankets to get them onto the others.

Buck turned from where his gaze had wandered off to the right to stare at the former replacement. "Edward?" he asked. "That's your name?"

"Yeah," said Babe with an awkward smile.

"Funny," said Buck, turning back to the line. "You don't look like an Edward."

"What does an Edward look like?" asked Eve, distractedly. Buck didn't answer, but Bill huffed a laugh as he put a blanket over the lieutenant's shoulders.

They stayed silent for a while, only broken by Heffron's wheezing coughs and Eve’s occasional deeper ones.

Eve turned what Bill had said about Gene over in her head.

It was true. Gene tried his best to distance himself from the men.

Eve hadn't really noticed it before, but in Bastogne it was hard to miss. She’d put his distance down to the fact that they were both busy. He was a medic. He had more important things to be doing than checking in with his friends, and frankly so did she. But it was more than that, deeper.

Gene’s distance was easy to overlook if you weren’t paying attention. It was that thing that a part of you recognized but the rest was content to ignore.

Eve kicked herself for missing the signs. Gene rarely sat with them when he ate. He never called anyone, perhaps other than herself, by their nickname, only their rank and perhaps a last name.

In some ways, she envied him for the detachment he maintained with the guys. They let him get away with calling them by names they didn't often use so that he would be treating Cpl. Sisk, not Skinny. It didn't help much, but if that's what he needed to do his job, who was she – were they – to ask him not to?

It was understandable, and the more she thought about it, the more understandable it became.

It was also terribly sad.

Her friend Gene and his professional persona might as well be different people, and here in Bastogne, there was too much need for Doc Roe for her to see much of Gene at all.

"It's probably a lot easier for Doc Roe to work on soldiers rather than his friends," she said absentmindedly. She hadn't even realized she'd spoken until her words had hung in the air for a while.

No one else had anything to share on the subject.

She desperately wished that Gene and Doc Roe were different people, but she couldn't imagine a worthier man for the burden of being their angel in this icy hell.

It wasn’t that he alone stood between them and God. Spina was just as valuable, but he wasn’t a Toccoa guy – he hadn’t been there all along, and though she liked the Philadelphian, Eve selfishly hoped that it was Doc Roe who came running when she needed a medic.

Bill, sensing her plummeting mood, pulled her into his side.

Eve accepted the hug and settled down to watch the line, but she was too anxious about Gene to sleep easy.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed before.

It was hard on everybody when people got killed – it didn’t matter if it was her friends or the replacements – but it was especially hard on Gene.

The replacements didn't get it sometimes, the hardship of always knowing that any minute now the man sitting next to you could just be gone, but then they didn't get a lot of things. She just wished they'd stay alive a little longer.

Her thoughts drifted back to Julian's dark, searching eyes as he reached out for Babe, clutching at the gaping hole where his Adam's apple used to be.

She rubbed her aching eyes and hoped Bill hadn't seen her tears. She ignored the extra tightening of his arms for the compassion it likely was, and instead used it to bury her face onto his shoulder.

She forced herself to sleep when it was her rotation. She didn't know when she'd get it next out here on the OP, so she took advantage of the moment and willed herself into sleep.

-

The next morning they repelled an attack by German artillery. Tanks. Fucking tanks were rolling towards them from the tree line.

Sergeant Lipton ran along the lines, "Hold your fire, boys; don't let them draw you out. Stay ready, boys." Eve heard him run past her presumably on his way to his own foxhole.

"What the hell are we going to hit those things with, Lip?" she heard Penkala ask.

Eve stayed in her hole and prayed.

-

They lost Smokey. Paralyzed, Lipton said. Roe had come back from Bastogne an empty shell. She'd seen how long it took him to respond and get out of his hole. Spina nearly had to drag him out before Gene became the flurry of motion he normally was.

It scared her. Gene was breaking on them, and there was nothing she could do.

_What on earth are we going to do without Gene Roe?_

-

That night, Eve found Luz in his foxhole. Word had it that it was Christmas Eve tonight.

"Hey, Luz," she greeted as she slid into the hole.

"Well, if it isn't Sergeant Buchanan. Haven't seen you in a while!" he said, his teeth chattering.

"Oh you know, I've been around, this hole, that one."

Luz smiled and slapped Eve's shoulder. "So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Well, seeing as its Christmas and all, I was hoping you'd do me a favor." Eve pulled out her bag, and rifled through it for the very precious cigarettes and chocolate she'd stockpiled over the years. Eve had only rarely touched it, despite her often craving for the chocolate and the value in the cigarettes, saving it for this moment.

"Holy, shit!" said Luz. "Where the hell did you get that?"

Eve gave him a secretive smile.

"And you've been holding out on us all this time!"

"If I hadn't, we wouldn't have any Christmas presents to speak of."

"Christmas presents?" said Luz, suddenly looking at the bounty with a different perspective. "I thought you’d already handed out presents back in France? How did you manage this?”

“I’ve been saving up.”

“Yeah,” said Luz with a nod of his head. “What can I do to help?" he asked, eager to be a part of this scheme.

"Could you to pass them out? I want to make sure the guys get ‘em tonight, so they can enjoy their Christmas presents at Christmas. But I don't want the guys to know it's from me, or God knows they'll never stop pestering me for more," said Eve with a smile.

It would break her heart to have to tell them no, particularly since she was holding something back.

She was keeping back another two packets of cigarettes just for Gene.

Luz nodded. "You got it!" he said, scooping up the bounty. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye before he bounded out of the hole, much to Eve's amusement, suddenly filled with energy. She hadn't seen Luz so enthusiastic in a long time.

She dusted her hands and figured she'd go find something to do. There was never nothing to do.

-

Eve was in the long line for food, shivering and ignoring the dull boom of artillery fire that drifted through the fog. They'd been eating better since the drop, but not much. They'd taken the risk and pulled everyone in the Company into camp to enjoy a Christmas meal together. It wasn't momma's home cooking, but it was a veritable feast when compared to the last month of scant rations.

Eve got a second scoop in a spare mug she'd found and brought it over to where Gene was sitting by himself again. He took it from her hand easily enough but made no move to do anything with it but hold it. She sat down beside him and sipped at hers, trying to get it down before it turned to ice in her hands.

Looking up, she caught Captain Winters observing Gene's apathetic response.

Eve, when his gaze turned to her, gave him a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

Gene was withdrawing, even from her now. And it made her feel useless in a way that she'd avoided thus far. She was the only friend Gene had out here by her reckoning. If he pulled away from her too, where would he go? Where would she?

She was well aware that Gene wasn't doing so hot at the moment, but she tried to trust his judgment. If he wanted off the line for a moment, he'd let Winters know. Or, at least Eve hoped he would. With the way these past few weeks had been going, no one left the line for a rest in Bastogne. They could all use one, but they were so short on fighting men that anyone injured tried not to be.

Come to think of it, Eve _wasn't_ sure she trusted Gene's judgment of his condition for duty. The half-Cajun would be out here as long as he was needed, and he was always needed. That was that.

And as long as Roe continued to do his job, Winters wouldn't pull him.

Eve hoped that Gene knew what he was doing. Easy Company, Eve included, needed him too much to lose him to the hospital in Bastogne because of carelessness or the demons in his head.

She had to pray that he knew what he was doing.

Eve took a bite of her stew and tried to put Gene's dwindling condition out of her mind. It didn't work, but she wouldn't be able to talk him into a break, so she didn't even try.

A jeep pulled up into camp. Roe didn't even bother looking up, too lost in his own mind. Eve cast a long look at him and then got up to see what all the fuss was about.

A man hopped down from the jeep, wading into the men who gathered around him to hear his news.

"Well, they're sitting down to a Christmas Eve dinner of turkey and hooch back at the Division CP, but damned if I don't like Joe Domingus's rancid ass beans better." Eve recognized the twang of Colonel Sink's accent immediately and stood to greet the Colonel.

Despite what he'd said, the Colonel didn't generally just pop over. He had something he wanted to share with them or he'd have picked a more private time to talk to Captain Winters.

"Hello, Easy Company," said Colonel Sink, making his way over to Winters – who shook the Colonel's hand.

Eve guessed that whatever news it was, it was likely to be good news, a moral boost of some kind to keep them in good spirits. She joined Liebgott, who was fishing into his mug for missed morsels. He smirked at her. She presumed she looked a little odd, bundled up the way she was. She had her scarf wrapped around most of her face, leaving only her eyes open to the biting cold, and her hands wedged up under her armpits, cup and all.

Winters waved a cold hand at the Colonel, who unfolded the piece of paper he'd apparently tried to get Winters to read.

"Men!" he said, gathering the stragglers to form a semi-circle to see and hear the Colonel better. "Sergeant Buchanan," he said giving Eve a smile and a nod, getting the laughs he was hoping for and lightening the mood immediately.

Eve tipped her head, letting the men have their laugh and endured the slaps to her back. "Sir," she said, realizing for the first time that he had a nice smile as he gave her an indulgent one. She caught Winters, Nix, and Strayer also smiling and exchanging knowing looks. It made her feel good that at least someone was in a good mood. If her eyes strayed to Gene to check on him, well, she didn't think anyone noticed her disappointment when he hadn't even shifted.

"General McAuliffe wishes us all a Merry Christmas. What's 'merry' about all this you ask? Just this: we've stopped cold everything that's been thrown at us from the north, east, south, and west. Now, two days ago, the German Commander demanded our honorable surrender to save the USA encircled troops from total annihilation. The German commander received the following reply: To the German Commander: NUTS!"

Eve laughed. _Nuts indeed_.

Liebgott shot her an amused glance from the corner of his eye, and seeing her laughing, gave the biggest grin she'd seen from him since France, and went back to his meal. Eve nodded to herself a few more times.

Nuts, she liked that.

 _What else_ , Eve wondered, _does such a message send to the supposedly elite European force? That we’re all nuts? That’s true enough._

Maybe it’s an emulation of the American battle cry from the Great War: 'Retreat! Hell, we just got here!' Or maybe it’s just a big old fuck you? Any of those messages, hell all of them, work well enough for me.

"For giving our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present, being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms, we are truly making for ourselves a Merry Christmas," said Sink, ending on a sober note. He folded up the paper and saluted them with it. "Merry Christmas to you all and God bless you."

Sink left with a pat to Winters' back. Eve intoned: "Merry Christmas, sir!" with the rest of them, trying to ignore the echoing explosions. The sound was muted by the trees and far enough away that the ground wasn't shaking with the impact, but she heard them like ominous foretelling of what was to come.

Most of the boys started snickering as the Colonel drifted through them, a few echoed "Nuts!" screamed by the more boisterous fellows, drowning out the blasts for a few blessed moments and Eve was able to enjoy the moment again.

She tucked another smile into her chest as a shiver wracked her body and she choked down a cough. _Fuck, it’s cold_.

Trying to warm up, get her blood flowing, she decided to walk around exchanging Christmas salutations with the guys. She checked them over for signs of wariness or illness and bolstered spirits with jokes and shenanigans. If her own soul felt warmer, she didn't think it was entirely due to the exertion.

She made sure to touch base with each of her squad mates and the other Sergeants. She even shook Winter's hand and wished him well. She made sure her smile was warm even as her teeth were chattering, and appreciated the effort the other boys were going to all the more as they smiled back. There was only one person who forwent the exchange. She tried to pretend she didn't notice the missing member, certain it was not his intention to drag down the mood, but she couldn't help her gaze from straying to him often.

Gene didn't move at all.

She racked her brain for something, anything to pull him out of his head for a little while.

A stray thought struck her. She changed direction abruptly and headed back to her foxhole.

She caught sight of her bag and upended it and shook vigorously to knock everything out. There, at the very top of the pile, was the French book she’d bought Gene in Paris. She’d completely forgotten about it.

She tucked it into her armpit and repacked the bag haphazardly in her hurry.

Excited, she headed back to where she’d left Roe. He was still there, staring blankly into his solidifying mug.

She sat next to him softly and pulled the book from her armpit, presenting it to Gene with a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Gene.”

He blinked, noticing the book with confusion. “What’s this?” he asked. “I thought you already gave me a present.”

“I forgot one.”

His brow furrowed under his white crusted helmet. “What is it?”

She blinked. “It’s a book I picked up in Paris. It’s in French.”

“I can’t read it,” he said, turning the book over curiously between pale, long-fingered hands.

“I thought you spoke fluent French?” she said, perplexed.

“I do,” he said. “They don’t teach it in schools though. You get a beating if you use French in schools and my parents didn’t have the time to teach me to read and write it.”

“Drat,” she said, disappointed. “I meant it to be a surprise. I heard it was very good.”

“It was a surprise. Thank you, Ev,” he said, smiling at her for the first time in a long time. “This might be a good way to start learning.”

“Maybe that pretty nurse’ll teach you,” she teased.

He bumped her shoulder, but actually laughed, quietly, but a laugh all the same.

“You should eat something,” she reminded him gently.

He shook his head but complied, taking an exaggerated bite. His face contorted in disgust as the cold congealed gruel hit his tongue.

This time it was Eve who laughed.

It was good to have her friend back, even if it was only for a little while.

-

After he’d finished his dinner and said goodbye, Roe wandered off. Eve wasn't sure exactly where, but she was certain he was going off to be alone again.

She held off for a few minutes, but convincing herself that she was walking the line to look after her squad, not actively hunting him down.

He must’ve dug a private hole somewhere off the line, since she'd checked most of the holes the others were in.

She gave a nod to the wandering Captain Winters, headed in the opposite direction. He seemed to have a destination, a focus, on where he was going. He gave her the tiniest of nods as he passed.

The Captain looked frozen solid. Each move he made was deliberate. He'd locked his hands underneath his armpits. His helmet might as well be rattling with how stiff he was holding his neck to keep the shivering at bay.

Feeling acute sympathy, she let him be and headed in another direction.

She could hear the Germans singing Silent Night and momentarily contemplated raising her voice to join the hymn. She suppressed the urge, but hummed a few notes in a voice barely over a whisper. She was not a singer by nature, but something in the familiar tune called to her.

She wondered, _If we can sing the same songs and worship the same God, why can’t we set aside our differences and all get along?_ At the same time, she wondered, _Will I ever, truly be able to forgive the Germans for starting this war and killing so many of my friends? Does that make me a bad person?_

By happenstance, she ended up catching Captain Nixon in the woods, probably on his way back from a piss.

"Sergeant Buchanan," he greeted her with a smile. "You on a walk?"

"Oh you know, the weather’s perfect for it."

He laughed. It was a nice sound. "You're funny, Buchanan."

"Glad you think so, sir."

"I could've sworn I told you to call me Nix."

"You might've." Eve honestly couldn't remember.

"So I heard you drift between holes?"

"That's right," she answered, unsure where he was going with this.

"Where're you tonight?"

"Nowhere yet."

He nodded; such was the way of these things sometimes. "You should stick with me and Dick in the CP. He needs a new runner for a while."

"Respectfully, sir, I'd rather not leave my guys."

Eve tried to gage the Captain’s mood. He seemed thoughtful, but that was normal. She had wanted to ask him a question for a while, but the opportunity hadn't presented itself. Now seemed as good a time as any. "Can I ask you something, sir?"

He shot her a glance, looking amused and she realized that she'd forgotten to use his name again. "Ask away," he said instead of commenting on it.

"Why are you out here with us? You could be up at Division CP right now in a warm house with food and a bed. Why do you stay?"

"What and miss all this?"

She laughed, but the cold stole the sound. She remembered why she liked talking to Nixon; he made everything seem easier for some reason.

"Besides, I couldn't leave Dick out here to freeze to death."

She smiled at him. It was true enough that Winters seemed inordinately eager to give away his winter supplies, including his coat and scarf. If the men didn't respect him so much, they might've taken him up on it. It was certainly more than any of the other officers did.

Nix huddled further into his scarf before becoming serious once more. "Besides, I'm the intelligence officer. I can't very well get good intelligence from the HQ. Truth is," he paused, seeming to think about whether or not to continue before giving a ‘ _to-hell-with-it_ ’ shrug and continuing. "There are more Germans than us and their guns are bigger than ours. One coordinated strike from all sides and we're done. I don't know what they're waiting for, but I'll be damned if I'm all the way back in Bastogne when it finally happens."

Eve knew that it was extremely out of character for Nixon to provide anyone other than Winters with his prophesies of doom and tried not to think about how dire their situation must be for him to confide in her. Perhaps he assumed that she'd take it to her grave, and if he didn't, well she would in any case.

They were within sight of the CP when they found Liebgott sleeping by himself in a hole, spare blanket at his side. He'd obviously been waiting for someone; Eve figured might've been her. She gave Nix a smile and hopped down next to her buddy and scooped up the blanket.

"Merry Christmas, Nix," she said, remembering his name this time as she settled down and covered up.

"Yeah," he said, "you too, Buchanan."

She watched him wander back to his covered hole with veiled concern. She hoped he was gonna be all right.

Taking a deep breath of the sharply cold air and coughing as it stung her lungs, she nestled down into her blanket. She left Liebgott alone so she wouldn't wake him, though she thought about doing it anyway for the body heat. Putting it from her mind, she tried to think warm thoughts.

She was just about to close her eyes when she saw Lieutenant Peacock wander by their hole without a glance. She bit her lip to keep from glaring at him. She hadn't forgotten the patrol he'd abandoned them on. She didn't think she'd ever forget it.

She would have put it out of her mind but a strange smell tickled her nose. She couldn't place it for a moment before the memory of camping in the woods, the acid sweet scent of burning sap and snapping wood hit her. As the sound of gently crackling wood reached her ears, her brain clicked into gear. Could someone possibly be insane enough to have built a fire?

She pulled herself out of her hole to go check.

Eve made her way to the precious small glow of orange, squatting in the snow next to Harry Welsh and Lieutenant Peacock.

"We're in a dell," said Lieutenant Welsh in greeting as he began prodding the blaze with a twig. He said it like it was supposed to mean something to her.

Eve nodded and stuck out her hands to warm them. She would have spoken to him, but her teeth were chattering too much for her to make much sense. Sensing her dilemma, he grinned at her, his ivory teeth glinting in the flickering light. She might have flipped him off if she had been able to convince herself to pull them from the fire.

She looked up when she heard a new crunch from crushed snow, a very familiar sound as it was trodden under boots. She didn't look up to acknowledge the newcomer, because she was well aware that what they were doing was foolish, stupid, and crazy, and yet she couldn't manage to convince herself to walk away or, God forbid, put it out. The fear of _possibly_ being shelled was gone as she savored the meager scrap of warmth, clinging to it as sense left her.

"Harry," said Winters. Eve's eyes flew to his face, already anticipating his disapproving stare. Fortunately, he was addressing Welsh, "Fire's not a good idea."

"Just a couple'a minutes," said the man in reply, "We're in a dell."

"A dell?" asked Winters, squatting down as well to join them despite his caution. Eve was relieved. If Winters was joining them, then he couldn't berate them for their lunacy. "Where fairies and gnomes live?" he queried.

"Yeah," said Harry, a sudden teasing smile on his face, "Ev here can be the fairy."

"Only if you're the gnome," she retorted, speaking before her brain fully caught up with her mouth. She'd have said it to any of the other guys, but this was a Lieutenant that she very much respected.

She was fortunate that both he and Winters laughed. Peacock notably didn't comment, too entranced in his head. She uncharitably thought that it was rather typical of him.

"I swear I thought I could smell a fire," came the sleepy voice of Captain Nixon. Eve smiled at the state of the man as he wandered over. "I did smell a fire," he said, freezing at the sight of it for only a moment before he hurried to join them. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded even as he was shoving his hands out to absorb the fire's heat.

"We're in a dell," said Winters, "with fairies," he gestured vaguely at Eve, "and gnomes" his hand indicated the Lieutenant.

"Huh?" asked Nix, giving Winters a bewildered glance as he looked at the two. Eve opened her mouth to explain when it seemed that neither Winters and Welsh were inclined to do so, but she never got the chance.

The ground around them buckled and shattered.

Mortars started flying, zipping overhead to bombard their position once again, likely lured by the fire and their lack of sense.

"Go!" shouted Winters, pushing Eve away from the fire, which was the best target for the Germans for miles.

Welsh wasn't so lucky. A mortar exploded feet from him, sending all kinds of debris and shrapnel into his leg.

Winters scrambled over to his friend, screaming for a medic over Welsh's anguished cries, his helmet abandoned in the snow behind him. He gripped Welsh’s hands to keep the lieutenant from flailing and tried to reassure the wounded man that he wasn't alone, tried to get him to calm down and focus.

If there were splinters in the wound, Welsh clutching at it would just drive them in further and create havoc for the medic trying to stitch him back together.

But Welsh was too far gone with pain to understand that Winters was trying to help him, acting on instinct to protect his wounded leg with his hands and wildly fighting off his friend’s efforts.

Eve joined Winters over Welsh, ducking under the Lieutenant’s flailing arms to get at the wound. She yanked off her scarf to use as a tourniquet, focused on tying off the bleeding.

She vaguely heard Nix ordering a jeep from someone, but that too was pushed out of her focus by the much more pressing matter of Welsh's blood spilling over her hands. It was an upper thigh wound. If they didn't stop the gushing blood, or if something had nicked the artery, Lieutenant Welsh was a dead man.

Liebgott came over to help, obviously awoken by the shelling, and stamped out the fire at Nixon's hoarse command.

Winters tore Welsh's pants open to expose the wound. It wasn't bleeding as much now that they'd tied the scarf off, but the man wasn’t out of danger yet, Eve worried. The scarf wasn't designed to keep tight. The knot wouldn't hold and they had nothing better to tie it with.

All of their aid kits had been scrounged, and likely used, by the medics days ago.

Winters screamed for a medic again. "Medic! Doc!"

Eve considered adding her voice and quickly decided against it. She didn't want the medic confused. One call per fallen man. If she called too, it would add to the confusion rather than get faster results.

 _Gene should be here by now_ , Eve thought, suddenly petrified.

If Gene wasn't answering the call for a medic, something must be horribly wrong. He might even need a medic himself.

She looked up. Winters met her eye for a critical second before he nodded. Eve tore herself away from keeping pressure and set off to go find her friend.

She ran through the woods, praying that somehow the mortars would pass her by. She felt bits of blasted trees peppering her jacket, nicking her face as she ran.

 _How does Gene do this every fucking time?_ she wondered as she scanned the foxholes. Each second she wasted felt like it was the one that Welsh would give up and die. _Why did I give up on finding him earlier?_

She ran into Babe. He’d probably been roused from his own hole at the cry for a medic and gone to help.

They needed to find their medic. Now.

An exploding shell rocked the ground behind them, sending Eve's legs from under her. She managed to maintain her footing and keep running, but how she'd never know.

"Doc!" Babe screamed as he followed her, giving voice to the cry that Eve hadn't been able to find the strength to utter.

She wanted to believe that if she just didn’t holler for him, Roe would be all right when they found him. She tried to convince herself that he was answering some other downed soldier’s cry. Not wounded, bleeding to death, too far gone to hear their Captain's call.

They finally found Roe's hole. Eve skidded to the side of it, nearly toppling into it with him before she recoiled in horror.

Gene looked like a corpse in a grave. Shivering, eyes screwed tight, curled into a ball of denial.

He was alive, but his mind was gone.

Eve felt a cool blade of a knife slicing her heart. He looked so lost and broken, gripping his blanket hard like he was trying to convince himself that the Winters’s call was just in his imagination.

She took the part of her that wanted to leave him alone and swallowed it. Welsh needed him. And Gene would never forgive her for not getting him out of this hole to help him. He'd never forgive himself, either. Eve wouldn't live with that, even if right now it broke her heart to force him to his feet.

"Come on, Doc!" she said, holding her hand out to him, hoping that his nickname would snap him to the present.

He didn't even move to uncurl from his ball. It was like he couldn't, or he was still sleeping.

The world was erupting into chaos, the ground was trembling, the noise was deafening: how could he possibly still be sleeping?

"I don't know," she said as Babe gave her a frantically questioning glance.

Babe pushed her out of the way and grabbed Gene.

Eve hit the snow hard, tumbling into Gene’s foxhole as the ground jumped beneath her, another shell going off only yards from them. The shock of the snow and ice stinging her neck and face wasn't enough to block out what Babe was doing to her friend.

The part of her that knew there was no time to coax him out gently, flinched as her concern reared its head once more.

"Come on, the Captain's yelling," said Babe, grabbing Roe by the front of his jacket and hauling him upwards.

It seemed to jerk Gene into a half-lucid state, but he couldn't seem to get his bearings. His feet slipped on the dirt rather than hold him up and he sank back down to the ground.

"Okay," said Roe placating, grabbing at Babe's arms to support his weight.

He sounded so tired.

Eve had never heard a man so tired as Gene Roe was at that moment. Not just tired in the body, but tired in the mind and soul.

_Jesus Christ._

Eve scrambled out of the hole and moved behind Gene to grab at his shoulders. The angle was bad, and she seemed to be doing more harm than good so she just backed up, squatting down with her hands over her head as a third shell came within yards of her.

"Okay, get up," snapped Babe pulling harder. "Not okay lie down! Okay get up! Come on!" He hauled Gene to his feet without sympathy, but the man was up. "Move! Jesus Christ!" Babe flung Gene out of the hole by his waist, again supporting the medic’s weight as man stumbled, exhausted, from his hole.

Once he was on his feet, so was Eve. She met Gene's dazed gaze, suppressing her concern once more. She grabbed his sleeve, towing him the right way towards the CP and the still screaming Captain.

Babe stayed behind, something about his hand, but Eve didn't have time to worry about him too.

Finally, Gene seemed to regain his normal urgency, knocking her loose as he regained his footing. She met his burning eyes with marked relief and led the way at a sprint, the medic just behind her.

"Roe!" She could hear Winters yelling, and Welsh's agonized screaming sharpened as they got closer. The wounded man took a gasping breath, which cut off his scream. There was general cursing as well as she slid beside Nixon at Welsh's head.

She somehow managed to get Welsh's head on her lap and began petting his hair back to calm him down. "It'll be okay, Harry," she said, her voice soft and hopefully soothing as she used the man’s given name. "Doc's here. He'll fix you up. You'll be fine."

"Awrgh!" he screamed, still staring at the blood coming from his thigh from under Winters's hands. "Jesus!"

He might've understood or he might have been reacting to the fear she couldn't suppress, but Welsh caught her hand and squeezed it, releasing some of his pain and tension into her palm as though she were a balm to his misery.

It made her feel sick.

"Roe," Winters said once more, softly this time.

Eve didn't understand why, so she glanced away from Welsh's searching eyes to find him. It was an image she never thought she'd see.

Gene was just standing there, staring at them, not moving to help at all as he slipped back into his shell-shock right when they needed him most.

She felt lost as she saw Roe's dark eyes and pale face stare blankly at the chaos before him, as though it didn’t exist. As though they didn’t matter.

More lost than she'd ever felt before.

Something knocked her hands and she grabbed Welsh's palm again without thinking. She swallowed what she could of her emotions, and returned her focus to Welsh. She caught the lieutenant’s eyes and held them, willing him to believe that he would be okay. That Roe was just tired, not too scared that Welsh might die under his hands like so many others to even try to help him.

Something in Winters's tone as the man cajoled the medic into motion must have finally been enough to wake Gene up.

He snapped into motion.

Eve breathed a sigh of relief as Roe took over the situation, briskly repositioning the tourniquet. Surely, Welsh would be all right now that Gene had come back to himself.

She couldn't help but turn her attention to her friend again; watching him closely as he fished out the stick he carried around to tighten the strap and cut off the residual blood flow.

"Hey, just a scratch, Harry," Nix said, joining her coaxing which had muted to all but a whisper as her eyes strayed to Roe. "You're not getting out of this that easy."

"Jeep's on its way. Hang tough," reassured Winters.

Welsh shivered with every twist of Roe's stick as though he were tightening a grip on Welsh's entire body.

Welsh’s grip on Eve’s hand clenched painfully at a particularly sharp turn. She squeezed back and kept running her free fingers through his hair. It was something her mother did for her often as a child. It came instinctually for Eve now, though she didn't know why.

Somehow, Gene managed to keep the tourniquet tight and dress the wound at the same time. Welsh screamed as Roe swiped at the wound with what was left of Eve's scarf, his head arching up. Each breath was its own sound of agony.

Eve kept up her stream of chatter, trying to hush the wounded man and keep him from distracting Roe from his work as he dusted the wound with more sulfa powder.

Somewhere deep inside she knew she didn't need to bother. Gene had worked on many a screaming man before, nothing Welsh was likely to do would throw him off. But it made her feel better, so she did it anyway. No one seemed to pay it any mind anyways, except perhaps Welsh.

"I've got morphine in my pocket," Roe said to Winters. "Give it to him."

"Where do you want it?" Winters asked, retrieving it and quickly removing the protective cap.

"Opposite thigh," Roe said tightening the bandage, already stained red with blood.

Winters jabbed it with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

Welsh took a deep breath and sighed, leaning back, limp with relief. Eve lowered his head to the ground, slipping out from under him so she could help lift him onto a stretcher when the time came.

"Okay," said Winters. "Okay."

"Elevate his head," said Roe. Eve helped Nix pull him up again, scared she’d done something wrong by moving in the first place.

Instead of reprimanding her, Roe used the blood on his fingers to paint an 'M' on Welsh's pale forehead.

 _'M' for morphine_ , Eve assumed. They didn't want to give Welsh too much; the lesson they'd learned in Holland with Moose still firmly remembered.

'M' painted, Roe commanded, "Get him up!"

The three of them, Eve, Nix, and Winters, worked together to haul Welsh's body to the waiting jeep – which Eve hadn’t even heard arrive. Eve took care to keep Welsh’s head elevated above his torso while Winters and Nixon carried the bulk of the man’s weight until the jeep driver moved to help them load Welsh onto the stretcher.

-

Winters passed off his portion of the weight to the driver saying, "Here soldier, take that," and wandered back to where Gene was still sitting, staring at the bloodstained snow.

"Eugene," Winters said to him softly, panting. "Get yourself into town, get a hot meal."

It shouldn't have been a reprimand, but it was.

Roe felt Winters's disappointment keenly. He sank to the ground for a moment, sagging as the weight of what was expected of him suddenly became too much. His eyes closed, fiercely fighting back tears. He hadn’t been here. He’d been sleepwalking instead of helping Lieutenant Welsh. He liked Lieutenant Welsh, and he’d done nothing while the man writhed in pain feet from him.

He'd fallen apart when he should’ve been putting someone back together.

It was the worst sin he could imagine.

Somehow his feet obeyed the command, and he found himself on the jeep headed back into town.

He didn't look at Ev as he passed her. He couldn't bear to see her disappointment as well. He kept his eyes forward and tried to ignore the sticky feeling of blood once more drying on his hands as the jeep thundered towards Bastogne once more.

-

Winters found Ev back in the dell.

She was staring at the tacky, brick red blood seeping into the cracks of her hands, and didn't even need to see the tears in her eyes to know that there was something wrong.

He looked at Liebgott, who was watching her with concern. Liebgott had been extraordinarily protective of Buchanan since they'd hit the forest. It was a well-known fact that Buchanan and Liebgott were close. They were buddies. Everybody had buddies in the war, but Ev and Liebgott were one of the oddest duos he’d ever seen, especially due to their rocky start. But there was nothing uncommon about their friendship. Everybody had a buddy out here, a deep friendship that couldn’t be quantified or explained. Dick knew his was with Nix, or perhaps Harry. Just as Liebgott's were with Ev and Alley. And Ev's were with Liebgott and Roe.

He squatted down next to her and threw an arm over her shoulder.

"Hey," he said as she leaned into him – probably subconsciously. "Why don't you join me and Nix tonight?" he offered on a whim.

He didn’t know why he offered, but he wasn’t going to rescind it now that it had been made. She looked lost, as though she’d absorbed Roe’s vacancy into herself.

She gave him a lost look and then glanced at Liebgott, who gave her a nod. "Go ahead, Ev," he said, encouraging. “I’ll sack out with Alley or something.”

-

Eve nodded to accept Winter’s offer and let him guide her into his foxhole, feeling like she was safe.

Once they were both settled against the cold wall, she leaned into the captain’s warmth. It was a silly feeling, this notion of safety now that she was with their indestructible captain when Winters was just as likely to get hit as anyone else, but it comforted her.

She took a deep breath, letting out a sigh, as her thoughts drifted back to Gene, and all her worry and anxiety returned full force, like a stone settling in her stomach.

Eve didn't know what she'd do without Roe – and he'd seemed so broken.

She sighed again and it was too much for her beleaguered throat to handle. Her chest burst into coughs that tore at her throat.

She tried to cover her mouth, she didn't want Winters and Nixon to get sick, but it became harder to smother as the cough wracked her body, sending her into spasms as she tried to drag air into her heaving lungs.

Nixon slid in on the other side of her and threw his own arm over her, pounding on her back, and then smoothing her hair, trying to help her calm down and breathe properly.

She couldn't understand what he was saying over her own coughing, despite the increasing volume. Sound was drowned out completely as her body became increasingly desperate for air.

Her guts ached as each hacking wheeze tried to drag out her stomach lining.

It was too much. She'd coughed her way into dry heaves and threw herself from the hole to vomit.

So much for Christmas dinner.

Winters climbed out after her and pulled her too long hair out of her tearing eyes, his cold fingers seeming to reach into her soul and calm her down while reassuring her that she was not alone. Not right now at least.

After far too long, her rolling stomach settled with a final discontented shudder. She gave a final choking sigh and spit out the last of the bile from her mouth, wiping the spit and snot on her sleeve for lack of a scarf or handkerchief. She dabbed her welling eyes with shaking hands, the tears brought on by helpless gagging.

She let Winters manhandle her back into the hole and then be tucked under Nixon's arm. She took short ragged breaths as she tried to will her body back under control, each tremor that shook her was a betrayal of her lack of composure. Tears started falling from her eyes without her permission. She wiped them away with a determined sniff, ashamed that she was crying, scared that these men, whom she respected so much, might see her as the weepy female she felt like.

Neither of the men seemed to care. Winters and Nixon were solid in a way that she wasn't right now. Neither had wavered from their duty once during this whole ordeal whereas she felt so timid. She needed some of that strength.

She missed the concerned looks that Winters and Nix shared above her head, but didn't protest when Nix pulled her under his arm, pinning her there as Winters moved in on her opposite side, creating a barrier of human warmth between her and the cold.

Nixon's voice startled her as he began to talk. Nonsense at first, like the dream he'd been having before Welsh's fire interrupted it, then moving onto his daughter, probably walking by now, who wouldn't even remember him when he finally made it home. "If I ever make it home," he said wistful.

"My sister," said Eve, voice hoarse from coughing and throwing up. She tried to clear it for a moment, only succeeded in aggravating it, and then gave up. "My sister promised me she’d name a daughter after me. So when I die, there will be someone who will remember me."

"You're not gonna die," protested Nixon, aghast that she'd even be having such morbid thoughts.

"Not without a fight," she answered, once again missing the look exchanged above her head due to her closed eyes. This time it was one of relief.

It took less than ten minutes before Eve was out cold, exhaustion lining her face as her body attempted to recover through sleep.

-

"Did you know she was sick?" asked Dick. He didn't look at Nix, didn't raise his voice above a whisper, not wanting to wake her now that she was sleeping.

"No," said Nix.

"Think the Doc knows?" asked Winters. He knew full well the state of their medical supplies. If Roe could help any of the poor bastards who were sick, he would've done it by now.

"Probably," Nixon answered. "Roe doesn't miss much. Even now."

Winters nodded and fell silent. That was certainly true enough.

He hoped Ev would be okay. Easy Company couldn’t afford to lose a good NCO.

-

That night, the Luftwaffe bombed Bastogne. Merry Christmas.

-

An hour before dawn, Dike wandered into the CP from wherever he'd been hiding. Nixon got up reluctantly after an expectant look, envying Winters for getting to stay warm in the hole while he had to try talking sense back into this goldbrick. It was his turn to interrogate the man about where the fuck he'd wandered off to. Winters had done it last time. Hopefully, because Nix was technically a higher rank than Dick was, it would stick this time.

He began dressing down Dike where he'd intercepted him, just beyond the foxhole Ev and Winters were curled up in, and under the Captain's watchful eye, leery about going too far out of sight.

Despite the fact that it was barely past dawn, Ev had only just fallen asleep after the latest in a series of coughing fits that had roused all of them throughout the night.

Nixon would never say it out loud, but he was worried for their girl. She didn’t look too good.

Dick obviously agreed or he wouldn’t’ve had her share their foxhole tonight.

The coughing fits worried him exceedingly, but there wasn’t much they could do for it out here. The supplies that had been dropped were scarce, and there’d been no penicillin to speak of. If Nixon’s information from up the chain was correct, it would also be the last drop they could expect for a while.

In their infinite wisdom, the Allied leadership had decided that bombing the enemy was more important than making sure their soldiers didn’t freeze in the middle of winter.

Nixon didn’t think more bombs into Germany would do a damned bit of good if Hitler had been able to pull this whole counteroffensive out of his ass to catch the whole Allied army with its pants down. If there were factories the bombs could’ve hit, they would’ve found them by now.

The crunch of snow alerted Nixon to an incoming man. He paused for breath long enough to identify the silhouette as American before picking right back up where he’d left off with Dike.

“… I don’t know where you are!”

-

Winters turned to watch their medic pass with considerable concern. He’d barely sent Roe off to town a few hours ago. That certainly wasn’t long enough for the man to recover himself, even if he’d managed to find a hot meal in the middle of the night.

Roe shouldn't be back yet.

He must have jostled Ev, or maybe she’d somehow attuned herself to Roe's footsteps, because when he turned back to check she was still asleep, he saw her eyes following the medic. She shifted to get up and follow him, but Winters pressed her shoulder down, keeping her seated.

She gave him a look of questioning. "He shouldn't be back yet," she told him, somehow guessing at the time despite having been recently asleep.

He nodded, "I know."

"Something must've happened in Bastogne," she said, again trying to get up.

"We'll ask Nix when he's done," said Winters. "Go back to sleep, Ev. Doc can take care of himself."

She looked mutinous for a minute. But he wasn’t moving on the subject.

The tension he felt in her shoulders loosened. "All right," she conceded, willing to trust him even in this matter. She settled down again. “He looked a little better than earlier, I guess,” she said.

“He did,” confirmed Winters, uncertain of the truth of that statement.

-

Eve shoved her concern for Roe into a little box where she kept all such things and didn't allow herself to think about it. If he wasn't okay, pestering him right now probably wouldn't help. Roe was the kind of man who needed to come to terms with things on his own before he could open up to another person.

She settled back down and let Winters’s heartbeat lull her into a deep sleep. The captain would wake her when it was her turn on the line again. She should get all the sleep she could in the meantime.

When she found him the next afternoon, it was like Gene was back to himself, still aloof, but no longer shattered.

Whatever happened while she was sleeping seemed to have settled him.

He was miraculously almost back to normal again.

_Thank God._

They needed him.

She needed him.

He gave her a smile as she handed him a mug full of coffee and she knew. _We’re going to be okay_ , she thought, half a prayer as she looked at her friend and willed herself to believe it. _We’ll be okay_.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. Please feel free to leave a comment if you're so inclined. Updates every Thursday.


	32. Coughing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve tries to be there for Roe when he has a rough time on Christmas eve. 
> 
> “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”– Winston Churchill
> 
> Now: Easy Company get's "relieved" and Eve's coughing get's worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's this week: The lovely Laura001, amazing FandomlyCroft, and phenomenal Atman were awesome in whipping this chapter into shape. All the thanks and love to them.

-Chapter 32-

The next day, Patton broke through the German lines. He’d come to “rescue” them. Eve laughed at the man who'd told her that. She wanted to be nearby when some unfortunate bastard decided to inform Toye and Guarnere that they’d been “rescued”. She could already imagine their indignation, but the live show would doubtlessly be doubly entertaining.

Eve could admit that her pride was the one talking. Sure they’d been surrounded, and she’d admit that things had looked pretty grim without an aid station – but they were paratroopers. These were the kinds of conditions they’d been trained for, awful weather aside.

They most certainly had not been rescued. They hadn't _needed_ to be rescued. Easy Company would have continued to out stubborn the Germans until the Krauts either finally gave up or the war was over, whichever came first.

Now, if they’d been forced to endure the siege conditions around Bastogne for weeks or months, perhaps they would’ve needed the rescue, but all told, they’d only been in Bastogne for eight days. Eight miserable days of being constantly on the front lines – something that could only be equated with hell on earth – and that was before you factored in the extremities of the weather and their lack of general supplies – but eight days was a paltry number no matter how you sliced it.

Besides, if they’d truly been “rescued” they wouldn’t still be out here freezing to death at the new spearhead of the Allied advance. “Rescue” implied helplessness, hence the hilarity. No one in Easy Company was helpless in the slightest – well, except perhaps a couple of their more incompetent officers.

She also heard the word “relieved” being bandied about, but apart from breaking through the lines and getting their wounded out, there was no discernible change to Easy Company’s situation. They were still out in front – spearheading the push back into Germany with Patton’s tanks making them an even bigger target to the Krauts than before. There was no relief to be had.

All that aside, there was one bonus that came with Patton: supplies. The single drop the Army had managed came with mixed effects. The majority of the supplies they’d actually needed had missed them completely and landed with the Germans.

Eve and Jackson sat perched on the edge of his foxhole. They each had a box of MG ammunition. The long strands of cartridges had arrived _en masse_ with Patton, but as usual, several – if not most – of the bullets were bent or covered in dirt and grease. If they got fed through the gun they would jam and cause all manner of trouble. She'd drafted Jackson's help and got to work yanking the defective shells from the chain.

Eve couldn't help but think back on the last few days as she examined a particularly defective bullet. She hadn't wanted to admit it, not even to herself, but things had been pretty dire.

At one point, they’d been so short that they’d had to redistribute the ammo so each man had only a single bullet for his gun. Food and water had been a constant battle – no one talked about the poor kid’s brains that were in the only running stream they could get to. Their limited amount of medical supplies was a joke that just wasn't funny – sheets shredded at the hospital in Bastogne were used as bandages when they didn't have enough. And then even that small measure of security was blown away during the Luftwaffe bombing on Christmas.

Eve tossed a defective bullet into the shit pile and ran her fingers over the next section of the chain – feeling for defects rather than trying to see them. She ignored how the metal bit into her fingertips as she swept them along the shells.

She darted a look at Jackson as he shivered violently, grinding his teeth to keep them from chattering. He put on a brave face, probably his pride keeping him from showing weakness in front of her, but she could see the tremors of cold in his fingers. They'd been promised winter gear, but it hadn't come.

At least Patton had brought plenty of ammo, and they had enough food for three meals a day again – well at least for a while. He'd also brought about almost a complete reshuffle of most of Easy Company.

The new faces and mostly full boxes of ammunition reminded her how much better things seemed right now. Sure they were still entrenched in the same positions around Bastogne, but they had some major improvements, equipment and supplies aside. They had an actual aid station again, furnished with surgeons and nurses for their wounded. And heavy gun support once more.

Eve's original squad had faired pretty well through the siege, all things considered, but her guys had ended up scattered amongst other platoons and squads to help watch the replacements. She was sorry to lose Liebgott, who'd been with her since Normandy, but she trusted Martin to look after him. Alley had been transferred under Malarkey into the mortars squad, which seemed a good fit for the moment.

She'd managed to hold on to Jackson though, which was a relief. He’d turned into a good soldier, steady and reliable. She was glad to still have him with her.

Besides, she’d only just finished beating proper shooting into him.

"It's not that I don't want to stick with you, Sarge," he protested when she’d informed him that he was among the few members to stay with her and Second Platoon for now. "It's just that I –" he looked away, which surprised and worried Eve. Jackson was nothing if not direct and this rare show of vulnerability concerned her.

She was about to prompt him when he seemed to finally find the words.

"Did none of the other sergeants want me?" he asked, voice smaller than she'd ever heard it.

"Are you kidding?" she asked astonished, a teasing note in her voice. "I had to beat them off with a stick.” _Not that the other sergeants and I had anything at all to do with the redistribution and who went where_ , she thought with private resentment. “It wouldn't be fair for some other sergeant to benefit from all my hard work at getting you to shoot properly."

He grinned at her and dropped his eyes. He was clearly just as proud of his improvement as she was. It was painted all over his face even if Eve hadn't already known.

She squeezed his arm until he met her eyes again. "Even though you haven't been with us since the beginning, you're one of us now," she told him.

"Thanks, Sarge," he said.

"You’re welcome," she nodded. "Now that that's sorted, you can help me go through the ammo boxes for the MG," she informed him, happily ignoring his good-natured groan.

Which led them to this: two boxes, an ever-growing pile of rejected, defective bullets, and an easy silence at the edge of a foxhole.

Eve scrubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to keep the headache that had been brewing there for the last few days from overwhelming her.

Now that the sun was out and glinting against the snow, she suddenly remembered just how bright the world was, and seared into her eyes like a hot poker between her brows. Or it might be the fever-cough-malady she was still dealing with.

The sound of snow crunching under boots had her glancing over her shoulder. She recognized the walk immediately but was surprised all the same. It wasn't often that Captain Nixon left the CP for non-official business, which his demeanor belied as he amiably made his way towards them, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

"Ev," he said, smiling down at her.

"Cap – Nix," she said, remembering that he'd asked her to call him ‘Nix’ from now at the twist of his eyebrows. She didn't know what his retribution would be if she forgot again. She was sure it would be scathing.

He gave her a look anyway – not fooled – and registered what they were actually doing. "Enjoying the new supplies?" he asked with a smirk as he crouched down beside her.

Eve huffed a laugh. Nixon was certainly good at pointing out the obvious. "What bits of it are good," said she, holding up a bullet bent nearly in half for his perusal. She chucked the dud into the growing pile of them on the foxhole's floor with an exasperated sigh. “At this rate, we'll have more faulty bullets than working ones to pass out.”

He made a sound of agreement and repositioned himself. Eve disregarded the suspect look he was sending over her head at Jackson. A covert glance showed her that the private was studiously focused on his task, as though acknowledging Captain Nixon would invite the man's ire.

 _Nix_ , Eve thought, trying to drill the change into her own head. _I said I’d call him Nix from now on._

Eve could practically hear the gears turning in Nix's head but waited for him to say something first.

"I'm borrowing Jackson for a while," he informed her. When she raised an eyebrow, he turned his sharp grin onto Jackson. "Winters needs a runner."

Jackson looked up, wide eyed. Eve raised her eyebrow at him, confused. This wasn't normal behavior either. _Is he actually scared? Of Nix? Certainly not. Nix’s harmless._

She looked the private over again. _Maybe Jackson’s feeling sick too?_

"Take him," she said, with a careless wave of her hand. "Just don't let Winters break him?” she teased. “I just got his marksmanship up to par."

She registered both Nix's predatory smirk and Jackson's betrayed face with practiced ease and a firm bite to her cheek, turning nonchalantly back to sorting.

There was a moment of silence that stretched too long. She looked back up covertly with her peripheral vision.

Jackson was looking between her and Nix, probably wondering if they were teasing him.

Which they _were_ , but he certainly didn't have to know that.

"At your leisure, Private," said Nix, his sharp command a paltry disguise for his deep amusement.

Jackson jolted and scampered to his feet, nearly upending the box he'd been working on. He snapped a salute to Nix and scurried off to the CP.

Eve bit her lip until he was out of sight, fighting to stay straight-faced to keep from embarrassing the guy. She made the mistake of glancing over at Nix and burst into laughter at the very smug look on his face.

_He did that on purpose!_

Her laughter must’ve been infectious because as soon as she lost it, he did too.

They laughed until she started coughing and even then she couldn't manage to stop, giggling between each hacking cough and gasping breath.

The fit took some time to die down, despite Nix's hand rubbing circles into her back. When it did, she finally noticed the concern in his dark eyes and – desperate to get back to the lighthearted atmosphere – she snarked, voice a little hoarse, "Thanks for _asking_ to borrow Jackson. I really appreciate being the last to know where my guys are being assigned."

"Well, I wouldn't want to be rude," he drawled.

"Right," said Eve, smiling again. "You're a captain now, it would be unfitting."

"I was beginning to think these captain bars were invisible," he said, his own smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as he lowered himself onto the edge of the foxhole and picked up Jackson's abandoned box.

It wasn’t every officer who’d sit down and do a private’s job.

Eve was suddenly reminded that this man hadn't always been an intelligence officer. He’d been one of the original lieutenants of Easy Company. _It's easy to forget that Nix survived Sobel too. That he was actually the first guy in the Army to help me try and succeed._

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. _He tries to hide it with his sarcasm, his stoicism, and his pessimism, but he’s a good guy._

"Only to those of us who know you," she said absently, trying to shake off the sudden and irrational longing for red mud and the baking sun of Georgia, where death wasn't lurking at every turn and there was a hot meal and a shower for everyone at the end of the day.

"Nice of Patton to bring supplies," snarked Nix as they worked, tossing yet another bullet into the pile to accentuate his point.

"Yeah," she agreed. They were shit supplies. And then her mind drifted back to the replacements who made up the majority of her squad and she sighed.

"What's up?" he said, sensing that her thoughts had taken a darker turn as her actions turned listless.

"Hm?" She pulled herself from her melancholy. She met his assessing stare and tried deflecting. "It's nothing."

Nix shot her a look.

Eve caved. "I could've gone without the squad shuffling. I know my guys are in good hands, but…" She scrubbed at her brow again, frustration adding a layer to her headache. “I’m just worried about everybody, I guess.”

"Caring about your guys isn’t something to be ashamed of, Ev," said Nix. He gave her shoulder a bump, hands still full of bullets. "It means you’re a good sergeant."

She smiled at him gratefully. The Bois Jacques had a way of robbing her of confidence in a way that even the most vicious societal parties couldn't. She'd never felt such a wave of helplessness before, a futility in her struggle to keep everyone and everything – including herself – together.

And she trusted that Nixon actually meant what he said. He'd never be Winters, whose mere presence boosted moral, but he'd definitely made her feel a lot better.

Eve was nearing the bottom of her box when Nix spoke again. They'd been working in silence for the last few minutes, the steady 'cling-ping' of bullets joining the dud pile the only disturbance in the snow muted forest.

"How's Doc Roe?" asked Nix, startling Eve enough that her toss went wide of the pile.

His tone had been uncaring, nonchalant, and her first instinct was to give him a non-answer. She'd even opened her mouth to say it when he pinned her in place with his stare.

She swallowed against the power in that gaze and remembered suddenly that he'd been there when Welsh had been hit on Christmas. He'd seen Gene freeze when it was critical that he act, that he save Nix's friend.

She owed him an honest answer.

She slid down to retrieve the stray bullet and gather her thoughts. He gave her the time, studiously attending to his sorting.

"He's better," she said truthfully, weighing each word. "Especially now that we've been resupplied. I think something happened to him in Bastogne after Gordon got paralyzed. He won't talk to me about it, but then I don’t think I want to know either, so I haven’t asked. But lately," she shrugged and retook her seat. "I don't know. It's like he's back to normal."

There was a lot that Eve chose not to say despite the truths weighing on her tongue. She was ashamed she hadn't recognized the signs, hadn't realized Gene was _not_ okay until he was incapable of doing his job.

Gene was her friend. She should have noticed.

And she was a sergeant. She should have brought her concerns about Doc Roe, about his dedication to the men exceeding his own wellbeing, to somebody. Nixon would have understood, would've given Gene a break. He might've been able to help Gene before he'd frozen, get him a break off the line for a bit. It was her job to look after all of the men, not just the ones in her squad. She'd failed at her job when she'd failed her friend.

It could never happen again.

-

Nix accepted Ev’s answer with a relieved nod. They'd gotten lucky with the medics in Easy Company. Both Roe and Spina did their jobs well, and yet Nix knew which of the two he wanted to work on him if he ever got hit.

Roe won by a mile.

Nothing against Spina; he was more than competent, but he just didn't have the same calming influence that Roe did.

If Nix had been a particularly religious man, he might've called Roe an angel. When he was around, even if he was just sitting there, somehow Nix felt better. Perhaps it was Roe's faith or uncommonly levelheaded nature that made him so respected by the men around him.

Or maybe it was because Roe always looked so damn miserable. He always seemed to be having the worst day ever. Granted, if Nix ever had to pull his friend's insides back into his body, well, he’d be having a bad fucking day too.

Whatever it was, Nix knew that losing Roe might spell disaster for the whole company.

Seeing Roe, who was so vitally important, freeze when Harry needed him had been one hell of a wakeup call.

Still, Ev knew Roe better than anyone else, and if she said he was fine, then he'd take her word for it. Especially since he knew, based on the guilt that had passed her face when she was about to lie to him and that she'd actually told the truth despite her instinct to lie, that the Cajun had scared her too.

Another wracking cough shook through Ev, pulling Nix free from his thoughts to refocus his attention back on her. Her first coughing fit tonight might've been a fluke but two meant that she was probably still ill.

He knew a lot of the guys either were or had been sick, but he hadn't known Ev was still fighting off her cough. Most of the guys got over their coughs within a few days, with a couple exceptions. Without asking permission, knowing she was too busy to protest while she was hacking up a lung, he put the back of his hand on the back of her forehead.

Her forehead burnt his frigid fingers. Still, even after his hands had acclimated, he could tell that she was way too hot for normal. She was definitely sick.

_Fuck._

And she was still coughing without sign of stopping anytime soon.

_Jesus Christ._

Nix could count on one hand the people more important than Sergeant Buchanan for keeping Easy Company strong and their moral high. If she really was sick and not getting better, then it needed to be addressed.

Spina, when Nix had pressed him this morning had confessed that Patton's medics were being stingy with their supplies, particularly with the hard to get stuff like penicillin and plasma.

At a loss, Nix started pounding her on the back as Ev hacked up phlegm, grimacing at the tears dripping from her clenched eyelashes. He didn't stop until she waved him off, the dreadful retching sound masquerading as a cough finally dying down.

They had so few real leaders left that losing Eve to illness was an unacceptable casualty. By no means were they out of the woods yet. And all the reports he’d been taking and receiving indicated that taking Foy – when they were inevitably ordered to do so – would be one hell of a hurdle. He didn’t want to consider what it would be like if they had to send Ev off the line before the attack.

"How long have you been sick?" he asked as she was catching her breath.

She was panting now, quick, shallow breaths to keep from coughing again, so it took her a while to answer.

"A while," she finally answered. "Roe ran out of penicillin back in Market Garden, so it didn't really seem worth mentioning. I thought it would just go away –“

“But it hasn’t,” Nix finished for her.

“Yes,” agreed Ev. She went back to her sorting without further comment, keeping her hands busy. “But neither has Babe’s. Or McClung's. Or any number of the other guys'.”

Nix did the same, turning over the problem in his mind.

They’d been without supplies for far too long for the ridiculous posturing that was rampant between the Third Armored and the defenders of Bastogne. For some reason, the tankers seemed to think that the paratroopers should be grateful that they were no longer surrounded.

Paratroopers were designed to be surrounded. They weren’t designed to go into a fight without equipment.

Now that Patton was here, Nixon had been under the understanding that the man was sharing what supplies he had to go around, which would’ve been fine as a stopgap for better supplies to come in. The problem was: supply runs weren’t exactly high on the Allies priority list. As far as Nix knew, there wasn’t another drop planned at all. The planes had been bypassing the Ardennes to blast the shit out of Germany with carpet bombs.

The point was that Patton’s bunch needed to share what they had in the meantime. Ammunition, they had plenty of, but they were in dire need of winter clothing and other basic necessities to survive the rest of this winter, especially medical supplies and food rations.

When his fingers hit the empty bottom of the box, he got up, ignoring the way Ev gave a shallow cough into her sleeve. He figured she had crud in her throat but didn't want to risk the deeper coughs he'd seen by trying to force it out.

Resolved, Nix dusted off his pants and said, "Well, I should get back to the CP. See you soon, okay Ev?"

He had a stingy Third Armored supply officer to ream.

-

Eve watched Nix wander away with bemusement. She didn't really mind his abrupt departure. She'd embarrassed herself coughing enough for one encounter, thanks very much. Besides, Nixon was a very busy man. She hoped he'd lay off Jackson, but doubted it.

She finished her box and went to give the box of sorted bullets over to the MG squad on duty in the OP.

“Thanks, Ev,” said Babe.

“You boys doing all right out here?” she asked.

“So far, so good, ma’am,” said Babe.

“Good. I’ll see you boys later.”

Mission accomplished, she decided to find dinner. On her way to the mess tent, Vest waylaid her with a literal armload of mail. She'd tucked the obscene amount of paper into her jacket, wondering when she'd possibly have time to read it all.

She and the other NCOs were still being utilized to pick up the slack from Dike, and the replacements – who now that they were moving more often still couldn’t tell a foxhole from a slit trench – just meant extra work, especially since most of them didn't seem to have enough common sense to stop incessantly cleaning their guns so they could get fucking warm.

She was trying to find Guarnere or Compton to get something to do, when Jackson – of all people – found her.

"Sergeant Buchanan? Captain Winters needs you in the CP, ma'am," he said.

"Lead the way, Jackson," she said, dropping all pretense of trying to find Guarnere and Compton. Winters would have found her himself if it wasn't urgent. Busywork could wait.

They walked together to the CP as quickly as possible in the dense snow. As Jackson was not a particularly talkative individual, it was a quiet walk. They'd been working together long enough that the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable though, so she wasn't complaining.

He also didn't seem to have any hard feelings about her ribbing him with Nixon.

When they walked into the CP, Winters met them at the door much to Eve's surprise.

"Thank you, Private," he said, dismissing Jackson. The kid shot her a look, asking if he should stay. Eve felt flattered that he’d looked to her for approval and gave him a nod. She knew Winters well enough that she could tell that she wasn't in trouble, but Jackson probably didn't. It was sweet – if entirely unnecessary – for the kid to be watching out for her. It was a side of him she didn’t see very often.

Winters waited until Jackson had wandered away, making sure the kid wouldn’t be eavesdropping before he said, “This way, Sergeant Buchanan."

He led her deeper into the CP for more privacy – what privacy a room without walls, or doors, or a tarp for a ceiling could offer anyway.

Ev’s curiosity was piqued. A quick scan revealed that Nixon wasn’t present. She gave it a passing thought and then refocused on Winters, who had a strange, almost worried look on his face. She couldn't exactly place the other emotion on his face, and the unknown twisted a knot of fear in her gut.

She had a bad feeling about this.

"Sir?" she questioned when they were ensconced in the meager amount of privacy they could manage.

"Did Vest find you with your mail?" he asked, only furthering her suspicion and fear.

"Yes, sir," she answered. "But I haven't had the chance to read it yet. Is everything all right?" she asked, concerned about her brother Alex, who'd been deployed in the Pacific, and then her father, who was getting on in age, and just as quickly cycling through her family and acquaintances, wondering what could be so serious as to warrant personal delivery from her CO. Surely Winters wouldn't be calling her all the way to the CP for a casualty report. It was far more his style to comfort such a recipient in private after they received the news along proper channels.

"Yes, of course," he said, not reassuring her at all because he still looked unnerved. “As you know, as the only female in a combat unit, you have a certain amount of fame back home."

Eve blushed. Back home, many articles that should have been about the Company, even the Regiment, had focused on her alone, and not always in a positive way. She'd been called a slut in more ways than she could have ever previously imagined. But the bad press had mostly disappeared once she'd shipped overseas, though she wasn't sure if that was because public opinion had changed or if she was simply out of range. Then there was what she’d experienced in Paris to think of.

She summed up her entire, very mixed experience by simply answering, "Yes, sir."

"Right, well it seems that someone back home started a letter campaign after hearing that you were a part of the unit stranded in the Bulge. General Taylor has decided to issue you a ticket home."

Eve’s eyebrow wouldn’t go down. First that ridiculousness in Paris and now this? She clacked her teeth back together from where her mouth had gaped open without her permission. "Excuse me?"

"They'd want you to go on a War Bonds campaign, USO stuff, and serve out the rest of your term that way."

"Sir," she said, interrupting him. "Respectfully, no. I don’t want to go anywhere."

"Eve," he said, speaking as a friend now, not her commanding officer. "It's a ticket home."

“I don’t want to go on a tour," she said, aghast that he'd even ask. "After everything I've done to get here, I'm not going to abandon the guys now."

"This is directly from General Taylor. There will probably be a lot of backlash if you refuse," he warned. "None of the guys would begrudge you going home, you know, if that's what's holding you back."

"It's not," she said. "I'm not leaving my men and, frankly speaking sir, I've earned the right to be here."

"You have," he agreed and gave in with a relieved smile. "All right, good. Well, you have a letter to write."

"Yes, sir," she said. "Might I borrow a pen and paper? Mine got lost somewhere in Mourmelon."

He gave his consent, so she sat down then and there, writing a brief (perhaps terse) response to the campaign. It boiled down to "thanks, but no thanks," which was a thin veil for the "fuck no and fuck you" that she wanted to write. She then wrote a letter to General Taylor, the commander of the entire 101st, and paraphrased her conversation with Winters. She made sure he knew her stance was firm: she was not leaving her unit or her men.

She understood the General's motives. He was probably been under enormous public pressure to even make the offer. Soldiers didn't just get plucked from the front for no reason. Unless they'd won the Medal of Honor or something, an indefinite pass home was unheard of for a lowly sergeant.

It was not a fate she wanted.

Hoping the General would understand, she handed the two letters over to Winters and received one of his smiles.

"I'm glad you decided to stay," he said. "To be honest, we can't afford to lose you. You're too good a sergeant to be pulled off the line for a PR campaign.”

"Thank you, sir," she said. "That means a lot coming from you."

He smiled and dismissed her. Eve saluted him and left the CP, glad beyond words that he'd respected her decision and hadn’t tried to convince her to accept the ticket home for political reasons, though it might hurt his career. If Winters had pushed, she would have done it. She would have gone home to a life she hated to raise money for the things they desperately needed on the front.

But he hadn't pushed because he knew her. He knew that she would suffocate as a stage monkey - pulled out for brief moments in the spotlight and then tucked away at the Army's convenience. She hadn't entered the Airborne for the fame. She hadn't survived boot camp to be pulled off the line right when her company needed every man it could get.

Her head was still reeling by the time she'd made it back to her foxhole. She couldn't believe, despite a war going on and plenty of headlines between the two fronts to keep even the laziest reporter at odds to pick something to run with, that the tired story of the female in the Airborne was even in contention anymore.

Surely there was something else they could concern themselves with? It wasn't like she hadn't been in the army for three years. It wasn't like she was only now reaching the front. Why now? Why not back after Normandy? Why not after Market Garden? Was it because they’d been surrounded? She was in the Airborne – a unit designed to be surrounded by the enemy.

Sure, things in Belgium were bad, arguably worse than either of those two missions, but still. It boggled her mind.

She wasn't likely to understand their motives without reading their letters. She unzipped her jacket the barest amount so she could stick a hand in and pry out the crinkled envelopes. As the cold shocked her torso, her lungs seized. She coughed into her hand. Her stomach quivered with each choking hack. She spit the stuff she'd coughed up vindictively away. She was so fucking sick of being sick!

She tore open the first letter, from her mother, and began to read.

-

_My dearest daughter,_

_How are you, my dear?_

_You will be pleased to know that the press has taken a decided turn now that your exploits in the war are coming to light. My daughter, the war hero: who would’ve thought? I can tell you that it’s been far easier trying to line up a suitable bachelor for you now. Surely someone will be willing to tame your wild spirit._

_Do let me know if one of your young men have caught your eye, darling? It will save me a lot of trouble if you come home with an officer who already knows of your impetuousness._

_Surely, you cannot wait to come home. We received no word about you for months and then have to find out from the newspapers that you’d been stranded in Belgium. When I heard the news, I marched right up to your godfather and demanded he pull you home – and he refused! The gall of that man!_

_Well, I’m not one to take that kind of thing lightly. My lady friends and I started up a campaign in the newspapers and the women of America responded! I am assured that by the time you receive this letter, the campaign will have enough momentum that your godfather will have no choice but to send you home to us, darling._

_I have no doubt that I will be seeing you soon._

_All my love,_

_Mother_

-

_Dearest Evie,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, little sister. I know you’re off fighting the war but I know in my heart that you’re safe somewhere where the dangers cannot touch you. Surely Papa would not send you to the front lines in earnest._

_In other news, I’ve finally found a man worthy of my attentions. Even Papa approves of Richard… And you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find a man who doesn’t outright disapprove of your occupation. I had to turn down many a strapping gentleman when they decided to insult you in front of me. The nerve!_

_I do so hope that the war is over before the wedding. I couldn’t imagine walking down the aisle without you by my side._

_Mama has been on a tear trying to get you back home in time. I do hope she doesn’t offend you. She means well._

_Still, I would so love to hear from you more often. Do endeavor to write us more often, if only to spare me from Mama’s anxiety._

_Know that I am with you, little sister. I haven’t forgotten my promise. My daughter will be named after you, should I be blessed with one. Richard has already approved._

_Please try to keep yourself safe for me?_

_Love,_

_Your Eliza_

-

_Evelyn,_

_Daughter, you have by now discovered you’re mother’s ridiculous letter campaign. I have no doubt that my daughter would refuse to take the shameful way out, and therefore I can reassure you that there will be no repercussions should you decide to stay on the front._

_I am very proud of you,_

_Papa_

-

_Dear Eve,_

_How are you faring, little sister? I can’t believe it’s nearly Christmas. The Pacific never gets any colder. If not for the blasted rain I wouldn’t know the seasons had changed at all. I do get tired of being on the boat all the time, but we’re engaging the Japs almost every day._

_Can’t really tell you more, but I know you’ll understand._

_Knowing the military mail as I do, I know by the time this letter reaches you, it’ll likely be Christmas._

_So, Merry Christmas, little sister! I hope your war in Europe is treating you better than the Japs are treating us._

_Wishing you the very best of luck,_

_Your Brother,_

_Alex_

-

_Dear Evelyn,_

_I am very sorry, my dear, but I do believe that your mother has stirred up the public. Your officers, if they haven’t done so already, are likely going to make a bid for you to be shipped home._

_It is my wish that you follow your heart, my dear. If that means accepting the ticket home being offered, no one here would blame you. But I believe, if I know my Goddaughter at all, that you will wish to stay._

_I’ve kept quite close tabs on you and your unit – and I can tell you with all sincerity that I am very proud to be your Godfather._

_You are an extraordinary young woman, my dear. Eleanor and I always knew you could do it._

_Godspeed,_

_Franklin_

-

Once she'd finished wading her way through what seemed like a tidal wave of correspondence, Eve needed a break. She tucked the bundle of letters away, not really knowing what to think after such a vast and varied number of opinions.

It took only a moment before she'd decided to go check on Gene.

It didn't take her long to find him. The medic was loitering near the mess tent, sitting a little way away from everyone as what his usual pattern and smelling the remains of his chocolate bar from the nurse again. She crouched near him and watched. It took him longer than normal to notice her pleading gaze, but only by a moment or two.

He gave her an arched look, but she won a smile - which had been her real goal, more so than the chocolate at least. She certainly wasn't trying to be subtle whatsoever with her begging.

He broke off a piece of the bar and gave it to her. Eve nibbled on it contently, savoring it, trying to make the morsel last as long as possible. Even this small bite of chocolate was a very precious gift after all.

Mid bite, she started coughing again, ruining the entire experience. She tried to make each cough count, each heave reaching deep into her chest to pull out the crap that she'd been spitting up so that the aches she was feeling, particularly in her abdomen were worth it, that they'd been accomplishing something other than her own misery.

Roe brought a hand up to her forehead and checked it. His fingers felt like icicles and she could tell that she was overheated, and yet, his touch seemed to radiate peace through her, easing the tightness in her chest and allowing her to breathe easy. It was such a relief after coughing, and she suddenly realized just how tight her chest had been feeling now that it had passed.

"You feel a little warm," he said. "Let me see if I can get you another blanket, or a warm cup of coffee." He was up and moving before she could persuade him not to bother. She watched him with exasperation before getting up and finding somewhere else to be.

She would never admit it, but she might be trying to hide from Gene.

She didn't want to take someone's blanket!

So, she picked the first group of guys she came across to join – not her best strategy, but sometimes hiding in plain sight was the best policy.

"Hey, Malark," said Eve, sliding into the hole he was in with Perconte and Luz. Don Malarkey was another Staff Sergeant in her platoon, and she needed to keep up with him anyway, she told herself, to make that feeling that tasted like cowardice go away. "Got anything for me?"

"Not a thing, Ev," he said with a smile. She grinned back falling into the easy camaraderie she hadn't even realized she'd been missing.

Eve had always liked Malarkey. She still remembered the kid who wouldn't shut up on D-Day. And after some time in combat, he'd gotten better about noise discipline, but he'd still kept his eager, generally upbeat demeanor.

She immediately decided that she needed to check in with him more often. She could use some cheering up after tough days. Today was shaping into one. After this, she'd better check in with the other Sergeants, and then she'd need to report to Lt. Dike, if she could even find him.

The idea of looking for him was already giving her another headache.

"How are your new guys? Anyone giving you trouble?" she asked, thinking not just of the replacements, but also Alley who fell under Malark right now.

"Nah, though it always amazes me how many of these kids have never even fucking shaved," he said drawing a laugh from Luz.

Eve eyed his growing beard and kept her comment to herself, though she couldn't help the wry twist to her lips. His grin, which now split his face, let her know that held back or not, he'd heard her comment all the same.

She turned to the two radio guys. She hadn't seen much of either of them in quite a while. Perconte had his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, scrubbing his back molars like they were falling out.

"Still brushing your teeth, Perco?" she said, teasing and yet slightly incredulous. "Do you even have any cleaning powder left?"

"Nah," he said, smiling, "that's long gone. You got any to trade?"

Her head shook, half an answer for him, half exasperation that he'd even bother asking. Huffing a quiet laugh, she turned back to Malarkey. "Have you seen Toye?"

"He got pinged," said Malark.

"What? When?" she demanded, staring at him in shock. _How did I miss that?_

_Fuck._

Toye was that guy, the one you never thought would ever get hit. He was that guy who was going to make it to the end of this thing out of sheer obstinacy. Eve wondered if he'd ever scared a few bullets out of hitting him. It was inconceivable that he'd been taken out with so little fanfare. Surely if he ever did buy the farm, it would be in a blaze of glory with thirty dead Krauts around him. He was a good enough soldier to make it happen.

"-In the arm," continued Malark. He tried to reassure her. "Combat patrol this afternoon. He should be fine."

"Fuck, don't do that to me, Malark!" She punched him in the arm hard, much to Luz and Perco's amusement if their cacophonous laughter was any indication.

"Jesus!" he said rubbing the arm. "I thought you'd heard!"

"If I'd heard, I wouldn't've asked," she replied with a frown.

She shoved her concern for Toye to the back of her mind as she did when any of her friends were wounded. If Malark said he'd be fine, he would be. He'd probably find his way back to the line soon enough. Toye wasn't the kind of guy to follow doctor advice to take it easy while his buddies were out on the line.

"How's the Doc?" asked Luz after a time.

She shot Luz a look. He should know better than to ask because as a rule Eve didn't talk about other people's business. Roe was looking better, but word had gotten around about him freezing up on Christmas, and if anyone would know how he was doing, it was her. That didn't make being the messenger any easier.

But she also knew the radio man was the key to reassuring the rest of the unit, so she relented and answered anyway. "He's doing better. It's been really hard on him not having enough supplies," she said diplomatically.

"We got that now, thanks to those Third Army fuckers," Perco grumbled around his toothbrush.

"Yeah. Good thing too. We're moving back to overlook Foy soon."

"What, again?" whined Perco.

They'd been overlooking Foy since Third Army came up to support them around Bastogne. It was the next key position to forcing the German retreat.

"Why don't we just go take the fucking town rather than sit on our asses watching it?" Malark complained.

"Because we're being ordered to watch it," said Eve. "We don't know how many Krauts are in the town, much less the forest around it. I'd personally like to be sure we're ready to go up against armor before we barge in.

"You know the drill; we take the woods before the town so the Krauts in the woods don't sneak up behind us. They could flank us or run off back to Hitler. Neither would be fun."

"All right, smartass," quipped Luz. Though he honestly enjoyed listening to Eve explain combat tactics, he didn't appreciate her spelling it out for him like he was an idiot. "Answer me this-"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Lieutenant Peacock wandering by their foxhole asking: "Anyone seen Lieutenant Dike?" with the air of someone who expected the negative answer he was about to receive.

"No, sir," said Eve formally. She hadn't forgotten how Peacock had abandoned them on the patrol where they'd hit the German lines. She probably never would. The only thing she could do about it though was bury her feelings under professionalism, so she was going to murder Lieutenant Peacock with kindness.

"Try Battalion CP, sir," suggested Luz.

A tickle started in the back of her throat. Eve was coughing hard by the time Peacock turned away.

"Whoa," said Luz reaching up to brace her as she doubled over.

It was only a minute before Eve regained herself and heaved up the gob of crud that had set her off. She spat it into the ground just beyond the hole, and waved the fretting men off. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," said Malarkey, eyeing her like she was going to keel over right then.

"Well, I'm as fine as I'm going to get in the next ten minutes, so stop your mollycoddling Malark!" she said a little sharply.

She already had both Roe and Nix breathing down her neck today about being sick. She would never have a moment of peace if it got out to the other guys. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if Guarnere got wind of it. His bedside manner was bound to be as atrocious as his sense of humor. If it happened to anyone else it would’ve been hysterical, but when it was happening to her, well, it was a horrifying thought.

"See if I worry about you anymore," Malark said, aiming for amusement but landing somewhere closer to genuine hurt.

She winced, sighed heavily, and forced down a second cough with sheer will. "It's really nothing," she reassured, trying to smooth his ruffled feathers.

"Well, why don't you take your nothing over to Doc?" said Luz. "Maybe there's something he can give you. Did Patton bring any penicillin?"

"If he did, he's not sharing," she said. "Besides, Heffron's far worse off than me. I'll just go see if I can find someone who's managed to hoard coffee and beg some off them."

She pulled herself out of the hole and escaped before Perconte could get in on scolding her too. Roe had enough to worry about, and if those other things kept him from fussing over her for a while longer, well, she welcomed them.

She ended up in a hole with Skip and Penkala next. How, she wasn't quite sure, but there it was. All carefully laid plans of finishing her patrol were put on hold because when Skip and Penkala decided to do something, they were a force of nature. And they wanted her to stick with them for a while.

Embarrassingly, it only took Roe fifteen minutes to find her. She stared at him balefully and wondered how he managed to find her so quickly. She eyed the gossips she was sharing a hole with and decided it was better not to ask.

Gene ignored her pouting and she could see the smile in his eyes as he tucked the blanket he'd retrieved around her.

He didn't leave after giving her the blanket. Instead, he produced coffee from seemingly thin air and demanded she take it. He sat there, carefully watching her drink the almost warm beverage and stoutly refusing to let her try and foist it off on him or either of her foxhole buddies. She complied, albeit mutinously. She didn't need to be mollycoddled, not even by Gene.

Her rebellious nature seemed to amuse him though. He'd be really worried when she put up with his taking care of her without a fuss.

Gene collected the mug from her with a smile that bordered on smug and went to return it to whomever he'd got the coffee from.

Eve tried to get up and back to her hole – empty now that Jackson was acting as Winters's runner – but Skip and Penk refused to let her leave, pulling her back to sit between them and telling ridiculous stories from their childhood until she fell asleep still trying to feign boredom.

She ignored the concerned looks they shared whenever she coughed.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. Updates every Thursday.


	33. Misfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve dealt with some startling news from home as Easy Company was "rescued" but not "relieved" and worries the rest of her Company by not getting better.
> 
> "It is interesting... how weapons reflect the soul of their maker." - Don Delillo, Underworld 
> 
> Now: An accident shakes Easy Company to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman were instrumental in getting this chapter out to you. All the love to them and their fabulous work.
> 
> Warning: Canon Character Death
> 
> If you want to put this one off for a while, I understand completely.

-Chapter 33-

The next morning, the brass called upon Easy Company once again to push the Germans back through the Bulge. Eve gathered around Buck and Lip with Bill and the rest of the guys from Second Platoon. Malarkey drew the short straw and squatted down so they could use his back as a table for the map. They were clearing the Bois Jacques Forest to the west of Foy and needed to get their bearings.

They were tasked with circling Foy to weed out any German resistance before their eventual attack on the town itself. It was painfully obvious that they were preparing for the assault, but Winters and Sink were being cautious. Eve understood why, but they'd been circling Foy like buzzards for days now. She was impatient to just get on with it if only to get the Krauts to stop shelling them from the position.

She watched as Lip fingered their probable route. He had gloves now, but the fingertips had either been lost or he'd cut them off at some point. Fingerless gloves made it much easier to unlace your boots and any number of fine motor skills, but Eve wasn't sure it could possibly be worth the warmth that they sacrificed.

"Which means we're right THERE!" said Buck, emphasizing his point by knocking Malarkey's helmet.

"Hey! Take it easy there," said the man, flinching away from the jab.

"Stop cryin' Malark, or I'll nail it to your head," threatened Buck through his smile, putting his gloves back on.

"You should," said Bill "It's made of wood." Eve and Lip gave quiet laughs as they stood up. Eve dusted the snow from her knees while Lip refolded the map.

"Guarnere, Buchanan?" said Buck, pulling in a hiss of air into his lungs. "Move 'em out, let's go!"

"Yes, sir!" Bill said standing. Malark pulled his helmet back on. "Second Platoon, let's go!"

Eve went to join her squad and get them moving. "Spread out," she reminded them as they made their way through the woods.

On that one-thousand yard attack, they encountered only sporadic German machine gun fire. No infantry. There were a few casualties, but no one from her squad. And no one Eve knew personally from Toccoa.

The lack of resistance made her both nervous and relieved.

-

At the end of the day, Eve was happy to just dig herself a new hole and hunker down again. The ground made the task difficult so people usually paired up for the actual digging. She wandered between the half completed holes, looking for someone to help.

"Hey there, Miss Evelyn," said a voice she hadn't had too much occasion to hear. She turned, smiling already, and found that Shifty Powers had joined her on her rounds. "Do you have a partner for the night?" he asked with a smile. She didn't and said so. "Wanna share with me?"

"Sure, Shift," she said, joining him. "I haven't seen you in a while. What brings you to Second Platoon's neck of the woods?"

"I got put in Toye's squad, what with the resorting and all."

"Ah. Who took it over now that Toye's off at the aid station?" she asked.

"Sergeant Guarnere right now," he said, surveying for a good spot for a foxhole. They didn't want to be too close to any of the other guys; five feet was the rough estimate for how much distance between holes there should be. This spot seemed to fit. "Is here good?"

"Sure," she said. "But I should probably walk the line for a bit, make sure the guys in my squad are paired up and have good cover. You okay to start it by yourself?"

"Don't worry about me, Miss Evelyn," he said, pulling out his entrenching tool to get started. "Take your time."

"Thanks, Shifty," she said, clapping him on the back. "I'll be back real soon."

He was already working, but he paused to give her a friendly wave. Shifty was no slouch when it came to getting things done.

She and Shifty had bonded in Toccoa at the gun range. He was a damn fine shot with a rifle, and it hadn't taken him long to notice that she wasn't too bad either. He'd been one of the first of the Easy Company guys to set aside her being a woman and treat her like any other soldier, and one of the first to make her feel like one of the guys by running up Currahee with her of his own violation.

Sobel, in his infinite wisdom, had decided that it made little sense for both of their crack shots to be in the same platoon; so Eve and Shifty had lost touch, particularly after she'd become a sergeant with so many other guys to look after. She still genuinely liked him though. Shifty Powers had an earnestness about him that wasn't easily overlooked.

Eve was glad he was with them, even if he was just on loan.

She spent an hour walking through their position and checking on her squad. She redistributed a few guys, making sure the veterans were placed with replacements so that the newer guys could get a chance to learn the ropes from the veterans. She knew it irritated the Toccoa men that they couldn't share with their friends, but they knew the drill. Once the new guys could be trusted not to shoot their own feet off in a fit of panic, they could start sitting with their friends again.

She made sure to show the replacements which trees and limbs were easy pickings to use as cover. She had to discourage Jackson and O'Neil, a replacement greener than grass, from chopping down a tree that would take twenty guys to move.

By the time she'd got back, Shifty had a fairly good outline worked out, and was already about two feet down. That she'd expected. What was more of a surprise was that First Sergeant Lipton was helping him dig.

She hopped into the outline and retrieved her shovel. "Where do you want me Shifty?" she asked, not wanting to interrupt their rhythm.

-

Shifty looked up at Miss Evelyn's pale face and smiled.

"There's fine," he answered, taking a moment to survey their progress. More hands always made for lighter work. He was grateful that Lip had decided to lend a hand, or he'd be much farther behind. The First Sergeant hadn't even bothered to ask if he'd needed help, just hopped in and got to work. It was just one of many things that made Carwood Lipton a great man. He didn't make a fuss, just did the work that needed doing.

Now that Miss Evelyn was back to lend a hand, they'd be done in no time, he was just sure. Miss Evelyn was a hard worker. She never skint on doing what was necessary to help out neither. She'd sure shocked them all when she'd taken to fighting so well. Shifty was glad that she'd joined the Army, and that was something he'd never thought he'd say when he first heard that a girl'd be joining the paratroopers.

She'd proved them all wrong. She didn't whine or complain or fuss about lady things like her hair. He remembered the day she showed up to class with all of it cut off, just like them. Looking back, that was probably the moment he'd decided to get to know her better. He was glad he did.

Evelyn Buchanan was the kind of soldier he'd joined the paratroopers to fight with. The best of the best.

-

They were almost finished digging when Hoobler and Hashey came by. The two boys squatted down on the edges of their hole. Eve spared them a smile, but they were so close to being done that she was eager to finish, so she kept to her digging.

"Hey, guys," greeted Hoobler. "How's it going?"

"Not too bad," said Lip. Pausing for a breather, he asked, "What's up?" If they needed something, it would be from him.

"Guess what I finally got my hands on?" said Hoobler. He pulled a Luger from his coat like a magician revealing his missing prop.

"Golly, Hoobs," exclaimed Shifty, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the gun. "Where'd you get that?"

Eve listened to Hoobler setting the scene. From the way he spoke, it was obvious that they were just one set of ears in a long line to hear this story. Apparently, he'd killed a German officer on horseback while out scouting with Hashey and Christenson.

She was happy for the guy. Hoobler had been pining for a Luger since D-Day; to get one after such a fantastic shot, well, no wonder he was bragging to everyone with time to listen.

"Down he goes, right out of the saddle, like a sack of potatoes. Outstanding accuracy on my part, if I do say so myself," boasted Hoob.

"Which you do," said Lip between shovelfuls.

"Which I do," Hoobler agreed. "Hell, Shifty, I think I could've maybe given you a run for your money, right?"

Shifty looked at the man, abashed. "No, no I'm not a good shot," he protested, breathing hard. "Now Dad, he was an excellent shot. Excellent, I do declare. He could shoot the wings off a fly."

"Don't sell yourself short, Shifty," said Eve, squaring up the walls. "I'm pretty sure you could shoot a fly off a guy's nose a mile away."

He blushed at the compliment. "You're not too bad a shot neither, Miss Evelyn," he said. She jostled his shoulder.

Eve smiled at him. She knew how much pride Shifty took in his father's shooting. To compare her even remotely to his dad was a high honor coming from Shift.

"Hey, Lip, that German, what do you think he was doing?" Hoobs asked, turning the conversation back to him.

"Probably a little recon," Lip answered, surveying the hole. "He musta figured nobody'd hear a horse."

"Or they ran out of gas," mumbled Eve absentmindedly. There was a beat of silence, much to Eve's chagrin, as the guys considered this and discarded it. She hadn't meant to say that out loud. It was ridiculous anyway. _What kind of army runs out of gas_?

"I think he was just trying to get the hell out of dodge," said Hoobs.

"What happened to the horse?" asked Shifty.

Eve shot him an amused glance as she hauled a dirt-laden shovel to the side. Of course Shifty was the kind to worry about the enemy's horses. Since D-Day and seeing so many slaughtered and discarded like refuse in the road, Eve tried not to think about horses at all.

"I don't know, probably still running. Hope it's okay," said Hoobler, sounding wistful. He probably hadn't even thought about the horse when he'd killed its rider. Still, it was easier to care for the enemy’s animals than the enemy themselves. Animals weren’t responsible for their owners' crimes, and yet they died by the thousands in the war.

"I hope it didn't make it back to German lines without his rider. If it did, we might be in for some trouble," said Eve, purposefully speaking this time. She didn't want to dampen the mood, and certainly killing the Kraut officer was a good thing, but she hoped it hadn't revealed their location.

Her sentence hung ominously in the air as Hoobler and Hashey looked at her, suddenly worried. Neither had thought of that.

Lip broke the sudden mood by asking Hoobler: "You dug in?"

"Yeah, yeah," Hoob reassured the man, tucking his new pistol away. "I just thought I'd take a walk. Shoot the shit." He stood up.

"Well, you're a good shot, Hoob," said Lip, looking up to meet the man's eyes. "I'm just glad you're on our side."

That made Hoobler smile, proud of himself all over again. "Thanks, Lip," he said. With a nod at the group of soldiers in the hole, he wandered away with Hashey, presumably back to their hole. Hashey had been strangely quiet, Eve noticed, but she wasn't sure what to do with that information.

"Hey, Lip?" said Shifty, sitting down on the edge of their new home for the next few hours.

"Yep?" groaned Lip, bending in half to get the most of his shovelful.

"Thanks for the help," said Shifty sincerely, smiling at the man when he turned around briefly. Eve nodded along, mumbling something that got lost between her labored breathing.

"You got it," Lip said, turning back to the dirt beneath his feet and hacking out another shovelful.

Before either Eve or Shifty could reply, Lieutenant Compton called Lip away. "Hey, Lip? You got a sec?"

Malark, who'd come up with Buck, gave Eve a nod and a smile.

"Yes, yes, Sir," Lip groaned in relief as he climbed out of the hole. He noticed Malark idly watching the two diggers and passed off his shovel. "Give 'em a hand?" he said quietly, an order disguised as a polite request.

Malarkey landed next to Eve and started digging where Lip had left off as the First Sergeant went to see what Lieutenant Compton wanted. They moved a little ways off to give the illusion of privacy.

"Where's Dike?" Eve heard Buck ask.

Malarkey offered her a smoke with a knowing grin. She shook her head and declined. She appreciated him offering her one, but it was well known that she didn't smoke. She went back to digging as he offered it to Shifty.

Shift, who was still sitting on the edge of the hole taking a well-deserved break, took the offering and let Malark light it for him.

"He's, ah…" Lip struggled to find an answer. He was the kind of man who disliked making someone, particularly an officer, appear in the wrong. "He's around," is what he finally settled on.

"Could you be a little bit more specific there, Sergeant?" said Buck, sounding amused. He, of anyone, was well used to Lip's discomfort in faulting the senior officers, but the question had clearly been a serious one.

"Not really, sir," said Lip.

"Damn it. I haven't seen him all day," said Buck. "I didn't see him when we were coming through the woods. And I have to figure out how we made out."

"Two wounded," said Lip.

 _Of course he knows_ , Eve thought biting her lip. Lipton had his finger on the pulse of Easy Company. If you needed to know about the state of the men, Lipton was the one to ask.

Eve wasn't surprised he knew, but apparently Buck was. "Who?" he demanded, turning to face Lipton in panic.

"Brown and Stevens," said Lip.

"Goddamn it," said Buck, gripping his gun tighter in frustration. "And where's Dike? Where the hell is he? Where the hell does he ever go?"

"I don't know, but I wish he'd stay the hell there!" hollered Malarkey, revealing that they'd all been blatantly eavesdropping. It wasn't really their fault. The two officers had barely gone five feet away.

"It'd be nice if he took Lieutenant Shames with him too," Shifty added, thinking of Third Platoon's equally useless commander.

"Shut up, boys," Eve ordered, though she privately agreed.

Lieutenant Shames seemed to have a hearing problem; he screamed all his orders, particularly if there was absolutely nothing going on. She supposed it was one way to command, but Eve had learned her lesson about noise a long time ago now. The best way to communicate in the field was always quietly. Clearly yes, but quietly.

"Shutting up, Sarge!" agreed Malark around his cigarette.

Eve smiled as she hauled dirt over the edge of the foxhole. They both knew that she couldn't really tell him what to do, but he listened to her anyway.

The pop of a gunshot sent Lip and Buck leaping into the half-finished foxhole, guns up and ready for a fight.

"Patrol?" Malarkey asked. His eyes were frantically scanning the opposite direction of the shot in case they were about to be attacked from the rear.

"Nah, we woulda heard," answered Lip.

Eve kept her focus on the woods even as she wondered whether Lip had read her mind. Easy was too good to let Germans penetrate the line this far without a fight.

She let her eyes drift into the middle distance, focusing on movement rather than anything in particular. There was nothing.

 _Maybe it was ours_ , Eve thought uneasily. Misfires weren't unheard of, but they weren't so rich in ammunition that they could afford even one bullet not sent towards the enemy.

"One man," deduced Buck. "Maybe a sniper?

"That wasn't no rifle," said Shifty. No one argued. If there was anyone in the company who knew what kind of sounds different guns made, it was Shifty. Also, Eve agreed. The sound belonged to a German gun, no doubt about it, but certainly not a sniper rifle.

"What do you see, Shift?" Lip asked.

Shifty didn't even move his head as he scanned the trees for incoming enemy.

Eve could feel the tension as she and the three people next to her held their breath for Shifty's verdict. The lingering fog blurred the details of the world, occasional snowflakes drifting down and drawing her intensely focusing eyes to their steady movement before falling out of range.

"Nobody out there," he said with finality.

"Are you sure?" Buck asked.

Eve didn't have to. Shifty knew what he was talking about. If he said there was nobody, there was nobody. He’d once spotted a single tree that hadn’t been in the forest they’d all been staring at for days – a single tree that hadn’t been there before. It turned out it was a German gun, cleverly disguised as the Krauts tried to maneuver it stealthily into place.

Shifty had spotted it, Winters had called in an artillery barrage and they’d all been saved.

Eve hadn’t ever doubted Shifty’s abilities before, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now.

"Uh-huh," Shift answered anyway.

"Aw, Jeeze!" came a shout. It was Hashey’s voice. "It's Hoob! He's shot!"

"Sniper?" bellowed Buck.

"No, no, he-" said Hashey, "He shot himself!"

Eve was up and running towards the man instantly, Lipton and Buck mere steps behind.

"MEDIC!" screamed Perconte.

"What happened?" said Buck as he jumped into the foxhole their friend was in.

Eve had already knelt by Hoobler's head, trying to calm him down.

"It's my fucking leg," cried Hoobs, barely audible under the pandemonium as more soldiers came over to help. "It just went off!"

Lip took the Luger from Perconte, who'd pried it out of Hoobler's hand.

"Let's get his pants off!" said Buck, taking charge.

Eve was mumbling nonsense to him, holding his hat covered head in her lap as he stared up at her, face scrunched in pain. She remembered this position from when Alley had been shot – she didn’t like it anymore now that it was Hoobs holding on.

"Shit-fuck," he cursed through the agony. "I wasn't touching it or nothin’!"

"Damn it, goddamn it," said Buck.

"Just try to calm down, Hoobler. Hold on," said Eve

"Where are you hit, Hoob?" Lip asked, finally heard over the cacophony of four worried soldiers.

"In my leg!" he said again.

Lip used his bayonet to cut away Hoob's pants. She hushed the injured man as he squirmed. "Shh, it's alright Hoob, it's alright. You're gonna be fine."

"Hurts like a son of a bitch!" he hissed. "I think I may have hit bone."

"I know, just calm down," she said.

"DOC!" screamed Lip.

"Warm 'im up, warm 'im up!" Buck ordered as he stripped out of his coat immediately and draped it over Hoobler's chest.

"Keep him warm!" said Lip.

Eve made sure Hoob's hat was covering his ears to trap as much warmth as she could. Blood contained a lot of the heat for the body. If Hoob lost too much blood, his temperature could plummet and he could freeze to death no matter what Roe did to save him.

"Sergeant," said Roe, arriving on the scene with little fanfare and quickly seizing firm control of the situation. "Let me see it!" he barked, pushing Lip's hands out of the way so he could start a tourniquet.

"Wrap him up, wrap him up!" someone said. A pile of shed coats was heaped on Hoobler's writhing chest, desperately trying to stave off the cold.

"It'll be okay Hoob, stay with us," pleaded Eve.

"Hey, Lip?" said Hoob, voice a strained whisper as he sought the First Sergeant's eyes. "You said I was a great shot, right Lip?"

"You are, Hoobler," she reassured him.

"You're a great shot," affirmed Lip. "A great shot."

"Hang tough," said Buck. "It's not that bad, not that bad at all."

"Stay with us! Take it easy."

"How we doin' Doc?" Buck asked.

"I can't see a thing," said Roe. "We gotta get him back to an aid station."

"Let's get ready to move him," said Lip. But Eve froze. Hoobler wasn't looking at her anymore. He jerked in her hold.

"Hoob?" she whispered. His body had sagged, ceasing all struggle. She put her fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse.

He was gone.

"Doc," said Buck, trying to get Roe's attention where he was still working to save the man who'd just bled to death in Eve's arms. "Doc!"

Roe froze, looking down at Hoob's slack face before sitting back. Everyone went quiet. Eve could feel the tears falling down her cheeks, but didn't bother wiping them away. Hoobler had more than deserved her tears.

"Fuck," she said rubbing her face with both hands and got up to take a walk.

-

Lip watched Ev walk away, worried.

She hadn't been doing well recently, and most of the guys had passed along their concerns about her health. It was the second most prevalent topic of discussion between foxhole buddies, right after bitching about Dike.

There was also a rumor going around that she was sick, but if she were, she was doing a damn good job hiding it. Nobody really wanted to dwell on that possibility anyway in case it got her pulled from the line.

A blind man could see that Julian's death had hit her hard. It was also pretty hard not to notice that she'd been rather frosty towards Lieutenant Peacock since that patrol. Not even Lipton had all the details on that one. Liebgott had been particularly closed lipped after he'd followed her into the woods about what went on there, but Lipton wasn’t a fool.

He'd have to keep a closer eye on her.

But Ev wasn't the only one he had to worry about.

Buck hadn't been the same since the hospital. His eyes would sometimes drift, staring blankly off into the distance without seeing what was in front of him. With Welsh gone, Buck was the only platoon leader worth his brass, and he was hanging on to his mind by a thin thread.

It made Lip nervous. Easy was without a decent commanding officer, and Buck was their best – only – option to replace the incompetent man.

His eyes drifted to the tow-headed man who had returned to staring listlessly at Hoobler's face since sending Perconte for a jeep. Judging by the look on his face, Buck needed a minute, needed to stick with Hoobler, hear for himself from the surgeon that the man was dead.

"Hey, Buck," said Lip, softly, drawing the Lieutenant's attention away from Hoobler's closed eyes. "I'll inform Dike."

"Yeah," said Buck, distracted. "Yeah."

Lip nodded, despite Buck's attention obviously being elsewhere, and got up to go. Lip could hear the whining of tires on snow and the hum of the jeep's engine coming up behind them.

He steeled himself. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on it – Hoobler's death, Buck's breakdown, Eve's health, their command situation – not on any of it. Hunting for the illusive Dike would be as a good distraction as any.

He wandered for hours through Easy's position, even drifting as far as Dog and Fox's positions on either side of them. Dike wasn't anywhere. As a last ditch effort, he circled around back to the Battalion Command Post.

It had been the first place he'd looked over an hour ago, since everyone knew that Dike liked to show off for command. A quick scan revealed the shivering forms of Captain's Nixon and Winters, no Lieutenant Dike.

Winters, who'd obviously noticed him wander by an hour ago, called him inside. "Is there anything I can do for you, Lip?"

Lip took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he ducked into the hollowed out building that served as their CP. It was a far sight better than the foxhole on the front, but it was no warm house either. The brick walls only made it to waist height, and a canvas tarp served as a roof, but snow flurries drifted in and out unimpeded. He gave a nod to both Captains Nixon and Winters and squared his shoulders.

They were both seated out of the majority of the wind, but from the way Winters was shaking, he'd somehow lost his coat's lining. Lip tried not to worry about him too – Nixon would look after the man after all – but it was his nature to look out for the men, and Winters's health was vitally important for the moral of Easy Company.

He briefly debated whether or not he should just tell Winters about Hoobler and go over Dike's head. After looking at the redhead again, taking in the worry in his bright blue eyes, he figured Winters would have found out from Dike later anyways if he'd managed to find him.

Decided, Lipton cleared his throat and started talking. "Sir, Hoobler was killed this afternoon," he began. "The Luger he found on the patrol this morning misfired; got him in the leg."

Winters looked away, eyes full of pain at yet another man lost to carelessness. Lip forced himself to look at the Captain, forced the words from his mouth. In some ways, he wished he had found Dike. Lieutenant Dike didn't care about the men, didn't take their deaths personally the way Winters did. It was what made him a great man, but seeing the pain on his face forced Lipton to relive his own grief.

He went on, "He was wearing so many clothes we couldn't tell how bad he was bleeding…"

-

Three hours after Hoob's body was taken away, Eve found herself back at the very place she'd been trying to run away from.

She wasn't surprised to find that she wasn't the only one who’d been pulled back.

Gene was crouched next to where Hoobler had died, staring at the ground with a faraway look in his eye.

A thin layer of fresh snow had already covered the blood, a vague pink shadow still showing through the ice, slowly disappearing under the fat snowflakes. Seeing all that was left of Hoob's vibrant self slowly vanishing under the torrent of Mother Nature was like a knife wound to her soul.

Tears she'd thought squashed rolled down her cheeks again with a vengeance, freezing to her face before they’d even had a chance to fall.

Eve was so sick of her friends dying.

She sat next to the medic, and after a minute of silence, gingerly put an arm around his shoulders. He didn't resist as she pulled him into a one armed hug.

He leaned into it slowly, accepting the comfort she gave him. She didn’t quite know if she was trying to comfort him or herself, but Gene didn’t seem to mind either way.

"I'm sorry," she said and let him go.

And she was sorry.

Sorry he'd lost yet another one of them under his hands.

Sorry that Hoobler, who'd been so proud of himself, who'd been with them since Toccoa, who'd survived Sobel and Normandy and Holland only to die needlessly in Belgium, would never be around to give her one of his smiles again.

She didn't bother trying to put those feelings into words.

"Me too," he said after a long moment. Gene already knew what she’d been trying to say because they were feeling the same pain, together, but alone.

Neither moved, giving vigil for their lost friend together for a long time.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very, very sorry that this chapter happened to fall on today. We're at the most difficult part of the series, and unfortunately several tragic chapters fall on significant holidays. 
> 
> On a brighter note, I am very thankful for each and every one of you, for your support and the generosity of your comments on this story. I hope that wherever you are in the world, you have a wonderful Thursday, and a Happy Thanksgiving to those of you in the United States. All my love.


	34. Officers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company loses Hoobler. 
> 
> Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm. — Publilius Syrus
> 
> To command is to serve, nothing more and nothing less. — Andre Malraux
> 
> Now: Eve starts to understand how dangerous their current leadership is, and Winters and Nixon take steps to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: This week Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman were instrumental in getting this chapter out. All the thanks and love to them.

-Chapter 34-

The next morning, Eve was checking in with Lip when Lieutenant Shames interrupted them.

“Hey, Lip,” said Shames, speaking in a reasonable tone of voice for once. He even deigned to give Eve a smile. “Lieutenant Dike wants everyone to join him for some kind of powwow so we can go over orders for the next patrol.”

“Sounds good, Lieutenant,” said Lip. “What time?”

“As soon as I can gather everybody, I think. You wouldn’t happen to know where Peacock and Foley are hiding out, would you?”

“I think Peacock is out on the line with First, and Foley was going to head back to the CP last I heard,” Lip said to the man.

“Thanks,” said Shames. “See you there.” He wandered off into the snow, hunched over under the weight of the cold.

"Wanna come along?" Lip asked Eve. "Dike won't mind."

Eve wasn't too sure. Dike barely interacted with her at all, especially if he didn’t have to, but she resolved to trust Lip’s judgment in this instance, especially since she’d had so little experience with Dike one on one.

A few minutes later, she and Lip joined Lieutenant Shames and the rest of Easy Company’s Second Lieutenants, huddling together just far enough away from the men’s foxholes to have a semi-private discussion.

"Hey, Ev," Buck Compton greeted her when he saw her. "You get roped into this too?"

She offered him a small smile and a nod but refrained from saying anything lest she give away that her teeth were chattering. The wind had picked up, blowing the sharp flakes of snow sideways and into every last nook and cranny of her clothing.

"Everyone here?" asked Dike, joining them like a specter from the fog. He didn't wait for an answer before he began the briefing.

Lip was right; no one objected to her presence. In fact, Dike didn't seem to notice her at all. While Guarnere was technically her Platoon Sergeant, and Lieutenant Compton was here, there was no real harm in her overhearing the formation they were going to for directly from the source. If it had been a sensitive operation, she wouldn’t have been allowed to stay.

"… so I want LPs and OPs set up. And I want tight security around the CP, understood Lieutenant Shames?" Dike instructed.

Eve traded a puzzled look with Buck and then Lip. Of course they already had tight security around the CP. That's why it was the CP. It didn't escape anyone's notice that Dike disappeared in the direction of the "tightly secured CP" more often than not, even though he somehow either never made it there or got lost on his way back.

"Now Battalion S3 is planning a move," he continued, clapping his hands together. "So I will probably be called away, regularly."

 _If he gets "called away" by either Nixon or Winters when he’s supposed to be leading Easy Company in the field, I’ll eat my scarf,_ Eve thought spitefully.

"Are there any questions?" Dike asked, clearly not wanting to receive any.

"Uh, yeah," said Buck, incredulous. Dike hadn't actually said what he wanted them to do on this so-called move. "What's the formation you want us to go for?"

Eve stared at Dike as he obviously mulled it over. Winters would have had a plan in place before calling this stupid meeting; Dike obviously didn't have the forethought to already have one outlined and didn't have the experience to make one up on the spot. "At present, as per usual, but I'll clarify that with you at a later time, Lieutenant Compton."

After only a few minutes of listening to this drivel, Eve wanted to scream in frustration. _What the hell is that supposed to mean? Was there an order in all that?_ She bit her tongue and cheeks, trying desperately to remain stoic. _Are all the orders he gives like this? How on earth do we get anything done?_

And then Dike yawned.

It was like he was trying to pop his ears or something. His whole face contorted in the effort of stretching his jaw.

Eve could feel her forehead scrunch up in bewilderment. _What the hell? Why on earth is he yawning without even the politeness to attempt to cover it with a hand? Does he mean to imply that he doesn’t care about what he’s just been telling us? Doesn’t he understand it’s lives at stake?_

That's the impression it was giving her, anyway.

"All right, I gotta make a call," said Dike and wandered away with purpose, apparently through with them.

Eve looked at Lip. _Who the hell could Dike possibly be going to go call_? As the man brushed by them, she couldn’t help but stare after him, watching the ridiculous man disappear into the fog in the entirely wrong direction for the CP.

"Let's move it out," said Buck with resignation.

Eve grimaced and followed him and Lip back to Second Platoon's foxholes.

She was struck again at how fortunate Second was to have Buck for their lieutenant. He hadn't really been the same since Holland, but at least he didn't fall apart in combat.

First and Third weren't so lucky. It was like the blind leading the blind as far as Dike and the other Platoon leaders were concerned. Peacock, apart from the incident around Julian's death, couldn't find his way out of a sack with a compass and a flashlight. Shames, Welsh's replacement, felt the need to scream his orders to the entire forest, particularly when there was absolutely nothing to warrant his volume.

All in all, Eve figured that Easy Company was fucked. They could do absolutely nothing about any of it. They couldn't wish upon a star and get new lieutenants.

It confirmed to her that she'd made the right decision in staying with Easy.

"Ev? You got a minute?" said Lieutenant Compton, catching her before she wandered back to check on her squad.

"Sure," she said, joining him.

"What did you think of the meeting?" asked Buck, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"Hm?" She paused, to try and recover her focus and tried to rally an appropriate response. "It was interesting," she finally decided to say.

"How so?"

"Well, for someone who talks so much, Lieutenant Dike certainly doesn't seem to say much," she observed.

He laughed. "You got that right," he agreed. "Half the time, I think he just says a lot of big words and hopes they all make sense."

She smiled, but it was really no laughing matter.

"So 'at present, as per usual, but with later clarification of what that means’ is his usual response whenever you need to know the formation he wants?"

"Yep."

"Well," she said, drawing out the word. "We're fucked."

He laughed again and clapped her on the back. "Not with you and Lip around," he said.

Eve raised an eyebrow but decided it would be impolite to protest the compliment, even if she was certain he was just flattering her.

"You stay safe, you got it, Ev?" he said, suddenly very serious. "I don't want you taking any chances. The guys need you out here."

"You got it, sir," she said and smiled at him again. "Speaking plainly, sir, you're the only platoon leader worth his salt out here. We'd be completely fucked without you. So, as a personal favor, sir," she said, teasing him now. "Try not to get yourself killed?"

He laughed again, which made Eve smile. Twice in one conversation was a personal best for her. "You got it, Sergeant," he said, and left her with a pat to her shoulder.

She watched him wander away, still concerned about him but feeling a lot more settled for having talked to him.

Buck Compton was an interesting man.

She turned to find a foxhole buddy for the night, perhaps check on her squad and make sure they all had adequate cover. Everyone not digging or walking the line was busy dragging greenery to use as cover. There wasn't much chance of an artillery blast this far back, but it never hurt to be prepared. The Krauts were probably hammering their old position above Foy, where the poor bastards from Able, Baker, and Charlie companies were stationed while Second Battalion got a reprieve. She greeted the teams she came across as she walked by. Despite offering to help each group she came across, no one took her up on it.

She’d resigned herself to wandering around until she found someone without a foxhole buddy, which at this rate was looking like it was going to take all night.

Eve turned at the sound of her name and saw the distinctive form of Lip approaching her. She slowed down to wait for him. "Hey, Lip," she greeted as he joined her. "What's up?"

"Just your guys singing Dike's praises."

"Shit," she hissed in frustration. "Again? I swear, I’ve told them all time and again that it's not gonna help anything."

He gave her a wry look, plainly saying, _I know_.

She winced. "I'll try and keep it better under control. Sorry Lip."

"Don't worry about it, not much you can do."

"What'd you tell them?"

"Something about Easy's CO needing to go steal Hitler's mustache to prove himself, and the pressure he's under."

"That's a good spin. Mind if I borrow it?" said Eve. She might say it to the men, but repetition might force her to believe it too.

"Be my guest," he said. Something in her face must have worried him or he wouldn't have added: "We've just gotta keep doing our jobs, Ev."

She smiled at him, self-deprecatingly. She'd heard him say that before. It was his standard platitude. She wondered how he did it, reassured everyone when she knew he had to have the same doubts they all did.

"You need a foxhole buddy for the night?" he asked.

She nodded; it felt like a confession.

"You're welcome to share with me," he offered.

"You don't mind?"

He grinned, slyly. It transformed the man, making him look years younger and much handsomer. "Share with a pretty girl? Not at all."

She punched him in the arm gently. He shifted the arm away, as though it hurt, and the mood was suddenly much lighter.

He hopped into a hole and Eve bounced in after him, sitting with all the magnanimous grace she could to earn another smile. He nudged her foot with his boot and she tucked away the grin, allowing her playful attitude to fall away.

"So, that was Dike telling us we're the assault team to take Foy?" she asked.

"That's what I heard, but probably not for a few more days," Lip confirmed.

She needed the clarification. It would probably take a while for her to learn to filter through all the superfluous words Dike used for the nugget of actual information.

"Got it," she said and settled in for the night

Opposite her, Lip fished a gun from his jacket.

Eve’s eyes were riveted to the weapon immediately. She tried to blink and turn away, but it was futile, she couldn’t help herself.

Lip noticed her struggle, but he did his best to ignore her as he polished Hoobler's faulty Luger.

It was busy work, something to do with his hands to keep his mind distracted from what it represented. Eve's hands itched for something of her own to fiddle with, but she couldn't even stop staring at it.

"You know," she said, her mouth starting before her brain caught up, "Buck told me not to do anything stupid today."

"Yeah?"

Eve nodded. "He does know he's in a company full of guys that decided to jump out of airplanes?"

"You're the girl that chose to join up with us, Ev," said Lip with a grin.

"My point exactly," she said. "I've gotta be the stupidest soldier in the whole 506."

"Not the whole Army?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I haven't met everyone in the whole Army," she said, forcing herself to keep the conversation light even if she couldn't manage to tear her eyes from the Luger he was still polishing.

"You haven't met all of the guys in the 506 either."

"True," she admitted.

That pulled a laugh from him. She smiled, satisfied. Lip didn't laugh enough.

She leaned back against the wall opposite from him and closed her eyes, determined to get a bit of a nap before she needed to walk the line again.

Lip smiled at her and went back to absently polishing Hoob's Luger, his thoughts obviously wandering.

"I heard about Hoobler," said a voice, shattering the quiet and jolting Eve from her doze.

Her eyes sprang open and she had her gun up and aimed before she even recognized it was her CO she had in her sights.

He stared at her in shock, too frozen to even have the common sense to get out of the way.

"Sorry, sir," she said, lowering her weapon quickly.

It took Dike a long moment to regain himself. She'd scared him. Eventually, he gave Eve a small nod and turned his attention to the fog shrouded trees beyond them.

"Shame," he continued, keeping his voice level, apparently deciding to treat Eve's reaction as nothing out of the ordinary in the pursuit of his original thought.

"Yes, sir," said Lip, picking up the conversation. He shot Eve a look. "It is."

Eve held her tongue. She noticed that though he said it was a shame, he seemed nonchalant.

It was painfully obvious that he'd never actually spent the time to get to know Hoobler.

It made her angry.

Hoobs should have died serving under a man who valued him and missed him now that he was gone.

Winters had been that and more, and everyone in Easy knew it. Dike just didn't seem to give a damn one way or another.

It was a shame, and not just because Dike was a poor leader, that the man genuinely didn’t have any interest in the men under him. He had no idea what he was missing, isolating himself the way he did. Eve should know, she'd spent two years isolated from Easy Company, on the outside looking in.

He would never know what he’d missed by not getting to know Hoobler, and now there was nothing he could do to rectify it.

Dike, ignorant of her thoughts, kept his gaze out to the line until suddenly struck by another thought and turning to Lip. "That the Luger?" asked Dike after a pause that was too long to be polite.

"Yes it is," answered Lip, not pausing in his polishing.

"What're you going to do with it?" asked Dike.

"I don't know yet," said Lip.

If he asked for Hoobler's Luger, Eve was going to shoot him, CO or not.

Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because Lip caught her eye. He shook his head slightly, passing on a clear message: _I’ll handle this._

Dike solved their battle of wills without even being aware of the tension going on in the foxhole next to him or the dangers to his person.

He didn't ask for the Luger.

Instead, Dike seemed to waffle between leaving and persisting in a conversation for a long moment before he decided that a bit of conversation wouldn't kill him. "Where you from, Lip?" he asked. "Where'd you grow up?"

Eve eyed the Lieutenant. He didn't sound disinterested for once and he wasn't yawning. _Huh_ , she thought. _Maybe he is trying to get to know the men. Maybe he does understand what he’s missing._

"Huntington, West Virginia," Lip answered, not sure yet where this was going.

Eve settled back against the wall of the hole, listening closely. Generally, she didn't like to think of home – and it had seemed rude to ask the other men about it when she didn't really want to talk about it herself.

But she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued about the kind of life that had produced a man like Carwood Lip.

"Huntington. I don't know it," admitted Dike. "What kind of work did you do there?"

"My brother and I help my mom run a boarding house."

"And your father?"

"He was, ah," said Lip, sighing and swiping at what could have been snow in his eyes. "He was killed when I was ten, sir. Automobile accident."

Eve bit her lip and looked at her lap. _It must’ve been rough growing up without a father and here he is, taking care of us all._

"That's sad," said Dike vacantly, as though observing a plot in a book or a movie picture. Something that happened to someone far away and not someone right in front of him that he was supposed to give a damn about, if only because he held the man’s fate in his hands.

Eve caught Lip's resentful glare, but was sure – due to the angle – that Dike was kept ignorant.

"So what made you decide to join the paratroopers?" Dike asked slowly, like he was reciting a rhyme.

The whole conversation seemed oddly contrived and forced. She wondered idly if someone had put him up to it. Still, Eve quietly hoped that Dike would pick up on the subtleties she could see in Lip’s posture and shove his insensitive questioning up his ass, but she didn’t interrupt. Firstly, it wasn’t her place, and secondly, she was too curious to interrupt Lip’s story.

She knew what had motivated her to join the Army, but what about the men?

_What made Lip choose the Airborne?_

"I read an article about paratroopers in _Life Magazine_ ," answered Lip. "Talked about the training, how hard it was."

Eve snorted, drawing an understanding smirk from Lip and a puzzled glance from Dike. There was no way an article could possibly accurately represent what they’d endured under Sobel.

"Said if you wanted to make it as a paratrooper, you had to be the best." Lip sighed. "And I wanted to fight with the best, sir."

Eve could hear the slight resentment in Lip's voice but she was certain Dike couldn't.

 _Trained to be the best and saddled with "Foxhole Norman." That’s irony for you_ , thought Eve, feeling resentful herself.

"You miss it?" he asked.

"Miss what?" Lip asked, glancing up at the Lieutenant.

 _Surely he can’t mean basic training?_ Eve thought, incredulous. No one could possibly miss the grueling training they'd undergone in Toccoa. If Dike missed his own training, then he was probably crazier than Eve had first assumed.

Though, she could feely admit to missing the warm Georgia sun just now.

"Huntington," Dike qualified, still staring vacantly out into the woods.

Eve snorted, thinking, _At least he's not crazy._

"Honestly sir, I try not to think about it that much," said Lip.

Eve sympathized.

Dike apparently did not, or took that to mean that the conversation was over. Either way, Eve watched Dike walk away without so much as a word to the man, feeling contemptuous. _What a piece of work._

Lip apparently hadn’t noticed his audience leaving and tried to ask: "Where are you from, si-?" before realizing that he was talking to the man's retreating back, again. He shook his head with a scoff.

 _Retreat seems to be the only maneuver Dike has figured out_ , she thought uncharitably with a snort. Aloud, she said, "So much for bonding."

"What about you Buchanan?" said Lip, turning his attention on her. "Where are you from?"

"Me?" she asked, surprised.

In all her time with Easy Company, no one had really bothered asking about her life before the army. Most assumed that they knew all about her from the papers. And she wasn't one to give up personal information without prompting, not that anyone was in those early days of training. It didn't surprise her that Lip was the first of the guys to ask her directly.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm from Richmond, Virginia," she tried, picking the home she’d spent the most time at as a child.

"Why'd you do it?" asked Lip, going for the heart of what he wanted to know.

"Join up?"

"Yeah."

"I wanted to help," she said.

"Why not do that as a nurse or as a WAC or something?"

"Me a nurse?" she asked, "I'd as soon work for a butcher. I've seen what Gene goes through every time a guy slips away from him. It would have broken me a long time ago. And the WAC is nothing. I would've ended up as a cook or a secretary. That's not what I wanted. I wanted to fight like my brother was going to. I don't understand why it’s not okay for women to feel as obligated to fight for their country as men are."

"Three guys I knew in Huntington killed themselves when they got 4Fs," confessed Lip.

"Jesus," breathed Eve. She'd been aware of people killing themselves after being rejected by the Army as unfit for service, but hearing about it directly – as people her friend knew rather than numbers and statistics – was different.

Lip nodded, but added no more, probably waiting for her to continue.

"When I was little, I read everything about military history I could get my hands on. I could shoot and hunt before I could sew or cook. I knew this is what I was meant to do."

"How'd you convince your folks?" asked Lip.

Eve thought about the answer before giving it. "I knew I had to go with or without their blessing. I’d made up my mind that I was going to fight somehow even if I had to run away to France and join the resistance to do it. Once I made it clear that they weren’t going to stop me, my papa and godfather threw around some weight in Congress and got me in legitimately. I figure they hoped that I'd washout before the fighting started."

She looked down, remembering what it was like leaving home. "My mom quit talking to me until right before I left. It was like she’d convinced herself that if she disapproved enough, then I would change my mind."

"She obviously didn't know you too well," said Lip, trying to be reassuring.

Eve kicked his boot. "Shut up," she said, thinking back to those weeks she'd spent in limbo, waiting to hear whether or not she'd be allowed into the Airborne. "I planned to be with you guys there at the beginning, you know? But the bureaucracy around the whole thing took so long that I was only able to join up a week after you'd already started.

"It was only after I arrived that I was informed about the probation period. Sink and Sobel wanted to make sure I could keep up with you guys before they wasted time admitting me," she said, unable to keep the note of bitterness from her voice. She understood the reasoning, but it had been monumentally unfair to single her out just because she was a woman.

"I always wondered what you'd done to deserve Sobel's undivided attention."

"I have breasts," she told him helpfully.

He laughed. "And yet, you don't seem to hate him," observed Lip.

"Oh, I hate him all right," she said, "but I understand his motives."

"Huh?" he said, not his most articulate sound, but he was genuinely dumbfounded.

"Yeah. Think about it: the reason Easy started out so close as a unit, even as early on as D-Day was because we all banded together in training to survive Sobel."

Seeing the consideration on his face, she continued. "You know how Easy's been called to lead a mission more often than any other company in the Second Battalion?" she asked, certain he had.

He nodded anyway.

"There are a few reasons for that," she explained. "First, we've got guys like Nix and Winters who trust us to get the job done, and second, because nothing seems hard compared to what we've already been through. Sobel was an ass, but he made sure we were prepared for anything. Because of that, we're damn good, and we're that way because of Sobel. He might have been a shit combat leader, but he got us to improve to spite him, which meant we improved."

Lip's face seemed enlightened, so she moved on. "I didn't hate him because I also understood the pressure Sink, Taylor, the public, hell even the President, put on him to make sure I was fit for combat."

"The President?" said Lip, incredulous. He didn't believe her.

"Yes," she confided. "He’s my godfather. He and my parents are old friends. My dad's a Senator for Virginia and he’s on several committees in the Senate." She ticked them off on her fingers, scraping through her memory to dig up the formal names that she hadn't had to remember in nearly three years. "I think he's on the Military Affairs, the Foreign Relations, and the-" she paused, the name on the tip of her tongue, "Approximation- no, that's not right, Appropri-Appropriations Committee!" she snapped her fingers in triumph.

She gave Lip a smile. He looked a bit stunned, but she pressed on. "Anyway, committees are a symbol of status and power," she clarified. "Being on one committee is a pretty big status symbol. Three? That's a lot of political weight. Papa’s got a lot of connections with Generals and the brass, and well, I may have managed to show off a little at one of his campaigning parties and got General Bill Lee on side.”

“The first commander of the paratroopers, right?” said Lip.

“That’s the one. Well, somehow it all worked out and I was allowed to join training. It was Sobel's job was to make sure I was fit enough to survive training. If I washed out, I was going to be sent back home rather than back down to the regulars. They wanted to make sure that I was as good, better even, before they let me join you guys."

"Jeez," he said. "And here we thought you were trying to show us up with all the extra work you were doing."

"Really?" she said, dumbfounded. She let that sink in. It explained a lot.

Lip looked at her and must have decided to take a chance and ask her a few more questions. "You know, I was surprised that Sobel treated you just like any of us when you joined the rest of the guys."

"Sink said it would be proof of his leadership capabilities if he managed to integrate me successfully,” Eve clarified.

"So that's why –"

"That's why."

"Huh," he said. "What about that thing in Mourmelon? When the guy," he broke off and gestured with his hands. "You know. What was Winters talking about, you leaving Easy."

"Oh, that." She sighed and leaned her head back. "A condition of my joining the Airborne was that I can be pulled out at any time if I prove to be too much of a distraction to the men. Winters and Nix offered to hear my side if something happened, but if it gets back to Command that I've been involved in a scandal, they could decide to bounce me out of Easy and ship me home."

"Jeez, just like that?”

"Just like that."

"No wonder you don't drink."

She smiled at him, but it was too sharp to be genuine. "It's too easy for something to happen if I'm not fully aware." She met his eyes, needing him to understand how completely serious she was. "This is what I was meant to do, Lip. I don't want to leave. Especially not now."

She could tell from the look on his face he understood that she meant their leadership situation and the sheer lack of bodies they had to man the line.

"You guys are my brothers. I'm not ready to go home yet."

"You got any siblings at home?" Lip asked after a time.

Eve nodded. "Two, both older."

"Baby of the family?" asked Lip surprised.

She smiled. "You better believe it. I've got a brother and a sister. Alex is youngest next to me. He's in the Navy. Last I heard his ship survived Guadalcanal. He's the charismatic one. And then there's Elizabeth. She just got engaged."

"I'm not surprised if she's as pretty as you."

"Prettier," Eve said adamantly. "I was the peculiar child of the bunch," she reminisced. "I wanted to hunt and learn to shoot rather than dress up like a doll."

"That must have been hard," said Lip.

"My childhood was blessed," she said with a scoff, thinking of his hardships as a prime example. She might not have always gotten along with her family, but they were all still alive to her knowledge, and they all loved her.

Lip gave her a soft smile. "Do you miss them?" he asked.

"I guess I don't like to think about it either," she said, parroting his words from before to hide her sudden ache for her family.

He nodded and decided not to press.

Eve gathered her thoughts. She hadn't thought about her family in a long time, had put them completely out of her mind after reading their letters and promptly putting them out of her mind. She’d never really had to explain her family to anyone. Most people she'd associated with before the war just knew about her father, and her family’s political status, as a matter of course.

It was a lot to reveal, particularly all at once. She wasn't sure why she'd opened up to Lip of all people; except that he was Lip, the man who took care of them all. And that she'd felt the need to reciprocate after Dike had left him exposed when he'd left so callously earlier.

"I do miss them," she admitted quietly after far too long a pause. "A lot."

"I know how you feel," he said, just as quietly.

They settled in as dark truly fell on the forest.

Eve pulled a blanket around her shoulders, not even bothering to wonder how it got there. She was half certain a blanket fairy was following her around, littering blankets in all the foxholes she might find herself in. It was a silly thought, but it cheered her up.

Thinking about home was far too melancholy, the ache to be back in the memories too sharp to linger on them.

"Hey, Ev?" said Lip, just as she was about to nod off.

"Yeah, Lip?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, Lip."

She must have drifted off, because Gene woke her up a few hours later and gave her a shot of penicillin. She fell back asleep before she remembered to ask him where he'd got it, or even if he'd had enough to give some to Heffron too.

She was suddenly so exhausted, with sleep dragging her ruthlessly back under, that she didn't notice the less than covert glances being shared over her head once more.

She might've scolded them if she had.

-

"Where'd you get the penicillin?" Lip asked, as Roe tucked the empty syringe away with care.

"Captain Nixon scrounged some from Patton's supplies," said Roe, still watching the woman to make sure she didn't have some kind of reaction to the medicine.

Roe settled next to Eve in her foxhole and lingered there for nearly an hour before he pulled away, other men he needed to check on. "Will you keep an eye on her, sir?" he asked.

"Yeah boy," agreed Lip in his customary way. It got the Doc to smile for a second before he nodded and walked away.

Lip settled himself more deeply into his position next to Ev and worried.

Roe’s concern certainly confirmed the rumor he’d been hearing that Ev was sick.

Lip just hoped that the penicillin kicked in and got her better. He couldn't even begin to describe the devastation that would hit the men if she got pulled off the line now, or even how much it would devastate the woman herself after the story she’d shared tonight.

He sent up a prayer that Ev had a quick recovery.

He didn't want Easy Company to lose one of their best Sergeants.

Back in Toccoa, Lip never would've guessed that Ev would become a necessity for Easy's morale. Once upon a time, he'd even put a little money down that Ev would drop out. But that was long before he knew her and he couldn’t imagine making any such bets now.

What had seemed impossible back in Toccoa, Lipton knew sitting out here in the middle of Europe, was true: without a doubt, Ev had become the most central point in holding Easy together. The keystone to it all.

Lip would be hard pressed to tell you exactly how it had happened, only that he was sure glad that it had.

Ev was a good soldier.

-

The next night, Eve was trying to get some sleep. She was sharing with Bull, who was a large, warm weight at her side.

"Hey, Bull! Ev!" said the overly cheerful voice of George Luz. "Guess what?"

Eve cracked open an eye to glare at the radio tech. "If it's not news that Dike's being transferred, I don't care," she said, and hunkered down again. It was a mostly futile gesture, but it conveyed her disdain rather well. She was tired.

"Close!" said Luz, still excited.

Eve sat up, pretense of annoyance forgotten in the wake of Luz's positively chipper mood. She hadn't seen the man so excited since Mourmelon.

"Spit it out, George," said Bull.

"Peacock got a temporary transfer."

"What?" asked Eve. "Why?"

"Division wants one officer from every regiment involved in defending Bastogne to go back to the States for a thirty day furlough. Winters selected Peacock."

Eve felt the smile bloom on her face. "Maybe miracles do happen after all," she mumbled. "Any idea who'll be replacing him?"

"Foley," said Luz. "He leaves tomorrow morning."

The next day, the men of First Platoon gathered around their departing Lieutenant to wish him well. Eve made sure she was a part of the group.

Of the Lieutenants that the guys in Easy had to endure, Peacock was Eve’s least favorite. She’d give it to the man that he tried his best, but just failed miserably at every turn.

Eve was relieved that Peacock was going to be someone else's problem for a while.

She still had a lot of mixed feelings about Peacock. She'd mostly gotten over her resentment over him abandoning their patrol. She would never forget it, but she'd moved past it. With Peacock gone, First would get another, hopefully more competent, platoon leader. Preferably one who could read a map. Peacock had the dreadful habit of getting hopelessly lost, even on the most basic patrols.

At the center of their group, the lieutenant was ecstatic to be going home, even if it was just for a little while. Eve couldn't begrudge him that. When he wasn’t leading them into a disaster, Peacock was a nice guy, after all, just inept.

And just because Eve didn't have any desire to leave Easy Company on the line, didn't mean that some other guys wouldn't have leapt at the chance for safety.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Peacock," said Bull, shaking the man's hand. "I can't think of anybody who deserves this more.”

"Thanks," said Peacock earnestly. The Lieutenant was all smiles as he accepted the congratulations of the men in his Platoon. He laughed as the elation hit him again. His grin was so infectious Eve found herself smiling along with him. He was about to go home, to be away from all this.

"Really glad that you're going home," said Luz as he clapped the man on the shoulder. He meant it, but probably not because he wished Peacock well. Eve could tell by the too straight look on his face. He really just wanted Peacock and his lousy leadership style gone.

"Best news I've heard in weeks," added Christenson. Eve's eyes shot to him, her lips twisting into a smirk. If he wasn't echoing Luz's sentiment, she'd eat her hat. "Hell of a guy."

"Hell of a guy," echoed Luz, which proved her point. Her hat was safe.

"Thanks guys, I mean," said Peacock, looking at all the eager faces. "It really means a lot you know?"

"Go on, get outta here," teased Bull.

"Lieutenant Peacock on three," said Christenson.

They all squeezed together, to give the man a very quiet three cheers.

When they'd said the last "Hip-hip-hooray", they each took a moment to shake Peacock's hand. Eve made sure to look the Lieutenant dead in the eyes, and give him her best socialite smile, drudged up from the recesses of the past because it was the best way in the world to politely tell a person to go fuck themselves. He gave her hand an enthusiastic pump.

She watched him board the jeep that would take him away, watching until even the retreating sound of the engine had disappeared into the fog.

As she made her way back to her foxhole, she couldn't help the satisfaction that settled over her.

He was finally gone.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are every Thursday. As always, thank you very much for reading.


	35. Reporter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company is short on reliable officers and Eve and Lipton have a talk about home. 
> 
> "Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered an automatic weapon." – Douglas MacArthur
> 
> Now: War reporter Robert Flack is sent out to interview Evelyn Buchanan in light of her refusal to go home and he's looking for a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: This week Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman were absolutely amazing and whipped this chapter into shape. And to Aniset, for getting this off the ground in the first place. All my love to all of you!

-Chapter 35-

Robert Flack tried to keep his knee from bouncing as he waited for admittance into Colonel Sink's office.

Flack had been a war correspondent for the _New York Times_ for five years. It had kept him from direct service, which his mother and wife were certainly grateful for, but Flack himself had mixed feelings about. He'd wanted to serve his country, avenge Pearl Harbor, and show all the bastards who dared to drag the USA kicking and screaming into the world's affairs that it was not cowardice that had kept his country sleeping.

Instead of fighting though, he used his talents as a war correspondent to keep the morale up at home. He'd gotten to see a unique perspective on the war, be right on the front without much danger of people shooting at him. Sure he’d been in a couple close scrapes, but nothing like full on combat.

He was responsible for relaying what he saw to the public.

He was responsible for _headlines_.

His mission today was different. The Editor-in-Chief had sent him a telegraph outlining a human interest piece he was supposed to drop everything for. Flack hadn't been particularly pleased to be pulled from the story of Patton's rescue, but there was nothing for it. The Chief said jump, so Flack asked how high.

Apparently, Evelyn Buchanan, the female soldier, had been a part of the heroic defense of Bastogne, which in and of itself was worth a byline in an article, but then she'd made a decisive political move that had stunned the entire country. And the _New York Times_ wanted a report on the matter as quickly as possible.

Personally, Flack didn't understand what all the hoopla was about. The story about the national letter campaign designed to bring the only female soldier home before she was subjected to further danger had been a fifth page news at best.

But then Buchanan declined; declined the ride home and stunned the world.

It was so unprecedented that Flack’s Editor-in-Chief was certain that the women and children back home wanted to read about it to understand.

Flack understood the significance of what Buchanan had accomplished by joining the Army, political maneuvering and nepotism aside.

She’d started a revolution. Once more, the women of the country had united, clamoring for equality. Only twenty years since rallying for the right to vote, women had mobilized. All over the USA, women were seizing the opportunities left by the vacuum of men departing for war and taking over jobs they’d been considered incapable of. About a hundred women had even chosen to follow in Buchanan's footprints and join the Army with the goal of eventually seeing combat.

Due to huge amounts of pressure from thousands of female rights activists, legislature had been successfully pushed through Congress, and a purely female fighting outfit was formed. They hadn't been deployed as of yet, and if Flack was honest, he didn't really think they ever would be.

But it was progress.

And that was due to Buchanan.

The women of the country wanted their hero to come home safely to lead the charge.

And she’d said no.

Now, Flack understood all that. What he _didn't_ understand was why he'd been pulled off actually corresponding on the war to cover a human interest piece.

Evelyn Buchanan was old news. Everything to report about her had been reported before, and honestly, Flack didn’t understand why the world wasn’t bored of hearing about her yet.

Was being the first woman to ever see combat impressive? Yes. Was being the only woman in a highly decorated unit impressive? Of course. But there were other _impressive_ things going on right now. For example: Patton’s Third Army had just made a _hugely impressive_ march across the continent to relieve the town of Bastogne, and were slowly pushing the Germans back.

There was a much bigger story here, right under his nose, but Flack wasn’t going to be covering it. Someone else would.

It was frustrating that after all his hard work, he was stuck with a human interest piece that no one with any sense would be interested in. There wasn’t a story here, just a woman lurking in the back and getting all the glory while the real heroes, the soldiers protecting her, fought the war around her.

The door before him opened sharply, startling Flack to his feet. A corporal with blond curly hair and an assessing gaze gave him a once over.

"Colonel Sink will see you now," the Corporal said formally.

Flack tried not to show his discomfort as he wiped his suddenly sweating palms on his trousers. Clearing his throat of the sudden knot that worked itself right behind his Adam's apple, he nodded and followed the man as he did a crisp turn and marched back into the office.

"Robert Flack to see you, sir," announced the blond man.

"Right," said the imposing man behind the desk, setting aside his pen and standing. He had a strong jaw and piercing eyes that pinned the reporter in place. Flack couldn't help the way his spine straightened as the man – who could only be Colonel Sink – came out from behind his desk, holding out a hand to shake. "Good to meet you."

"You too, sir," said Flack, more out of reflex than manners or anything resembling coherence.

"That'll be all, Lorraine," said Sink, addressing the man Flack had already forgotten. He watched as the blond saluted before leaving, the door closing behind him with a very quiet snap. "Flack was it?"

"It is, sir," said Flack, smiling.

Sink smiled back, but didn't comment. Flack got the impression that the man wasn't used to being interrupted. He filed that away. He didn't want to irritate Sink, after all. He was integral in getting access to the information he needed for his piece.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Flack?" said Sink, indicating that Flack should take the chair before his desk.

Flack did so, getting as comfortable as he could with the hard wood digging into his spine. "As you know,” he said, “I'm here to do a piece about Ms. Buchanan."

“I was under the impression that the _Times_ already did a piece on Sergeant Buchanan?”

“Yes,” said Flack slowly, remembering the scathing article one of his coworkers produced when Buchanan first went into the army.

“So tell me, Mr. Flack, why the sudden interest?” said Colonel Sink.

“It’s been a few years since that article,” said Flack, sensing that the last article had not gone well with Sinks and trying to get himself out of the hole. “Easy Company has become famous for its heroics in Normandy, and their defense of Bastogne, earning two Presidential Unit Citations. The soldiers of Easy Company have become national heroes; Ms. Buchanan in particular.”

Sink's eyebrow invaded his forehead. "Because she’s a woman,” asserted Sink correctly, cutting Flack off at the knees.

“Because she’s a soldier who refused a ticket home,” said Flack.

He could tell Sink didn’t buy it. “And why would a thing like that interest the _New York Times_?”

Flack barked a laugh that came out a bit too high to be natural. "It’s all over the news! The _Times_ sent me to get the exclusive. Everyone wants to read about the woman who decided she’d rather stay in combat amongst men than come home after being put through hell."

"Do they?" said Sink, a frown on his face as he studied the man in front of him.

Flack tried not to fidget as he wondered whether or not Sink could see right through him.

"What is it you need from me, Mr. Flack?"

“Access to Sergeant Buchanan for an interview.”

“I can’t afford to take anyone off the line, not even for the _New York Times_ ,” said Sink.

Flack bit his lip in disappointment. “Would you be willing to answer some of my questions?”

“Of course,” said Sink, resting his folded hands on his desk. “What would you like to know?”

"Well," said Flack digging out his notebook and pencil. "There wasn't a lot of coverage about Ms. Buchanan when she first got into the Army about her actual training. What kinds of allowances were made for her being a woman, exceptions and the like?" He paused, both for breath and to see what Sink would say.

"There weren't any."

"I'm sorry?" said Flack. He wasn't sure what answer he'd been expecting, but that one wasn't it.

"There were no exceptions made for her."

"Forgive me if I’m wrong,” said Flack rifling through his memory. “But didn't Ms. Buchanan undergo a probationary period prior to joining the men?"

"Yes, she did, but during that period she did no more or less than any other candidate for the Airborne. The entire purpose of the probation period was to ensure that she was physically capable of keeping up with the men before throwing her into basic training."

"Because of her gender?"

"Yes. However, Sergeant Buchanan preformed to the standards of the rest of the candidates, surpassing the expectations of her immediate commanding officer, Captain Sobel, as well as myself and General Taylor, and was allowed to join the men and continue training as a unit."

"I see," said Flack, pencil flying across the page. "Were there any problems integrating her?"

"None," answered Sink.

Flack detected a faint shift in the Colonel, but didn't comment, nor did he make any note of it. It was fairly obvious to Flack that there _had_ been problems, but that no one was going to discuss them openly without careful prying.

He decided to try a softer approach and go along with the man. "Why do you think that was? Everyone expected there would be problems, it’s rather shocking to hear that there weren’t any to speak of after throwing a frankly very pretty young girl in with a bunch of soldiers."

Sink ignored the jibe, offering Flack only an indulgent smile. This was a man well versed in the game of deflecting unappealing questions and saying only what he wanted.

"We've done something entirely new with this outfit,” the Colonel said instead. “The men train together as a unit before they're deployed in combat. In my opinion, this has led to some of the finest troops I've ever seen fielded, Staff Sergeant Buchanan included."

"What about when new men come into the unit?" Flack asked. Ms. Buchanan had come into the unit later, after it was formed.

"Well, initially, I suppose it's like any new kid in school. They fit right in soon enough. The paratroopers don’t field replacement soldiers while in combat because we drop in to fight behind the lines. This also allows the replacements to get used to the way we do things in the Airborne."

“I see,” said Flack. "What can you tell me about Ms. Buchanan in particular?"

"Staff Sergeant Buchanan is a credit to the Airborne and one hell of an NCO. Easy Company is lucky to have her."

Flack blinked at the sincerity in Sink's voice, but held his tongue.

Instead he asked, “Why do you think she turned down the pass home?”

“You would have to ask her that, Mr. Flack.”

"Right," he said instead, looking over his notes to keep Sink from seeing how intimidating Flack found him. It was obvious this was going nowhere. Sink wasn’t going to answer any of his questions.

This whole thing was a huge waste of time.

“I think that about covers it. Thank you for your time, sir." Flack stood up, about to shake the man's hand and leave, feeling defeated.

At this rate, he was going to end up writing the same piece as everybody else had, full of suppositions and rehashing what everyone else had already written about Buchanan. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

He just wanted to write this stupid piece and be done with it.

"Mr. Flack," said Sink, stopping the reporter before he could make a hasty exit. The man was pulling on winter gear similar to what Flack had abandoned outside the office. "I'm fixing to head out and visit Easy Company and Second Battalion. You said you’d like an opportunity to speak with Sergeant Buchanan in person. Why don't you come out with me? I'm bringing a camera crew for the news reels, and it'll give you a chance to meet Sergeant Buchanan."

"I'd be honored, sir," said Flack, meaning it as relief coursed through him. He’d actually get to interview Buchanan, something no other reporter had managed to accomplish. Who knows what kind of story he might dig up while he was out there? Maybe he could dig up enough so he could go a different direction with this stupid article and still please his editor.

"Good," said Sink, gathering his gloves and tucking the tails of his scarf into his jacket. "Lorraine will drive us to Second Battalion’s CP and you can make your way from there."

"Yes, sir," he said, hurrying to gather his things and bundle himself up as Sink rounded up Lorraine.

Maybe he could still salvage this piece after all.

-

“Where are we with that shipment of winter clothes Regiment promised?” Winters asked his best friend and intelligence officer.

“We already got some in with Patton’s resupply, but half the guys could use better socks, let alone a better coat. Third Army picked through the good stuff. I got Lipton to distribute out what was left.”

“We need those coats, Nix. We lose people to frostbite every day.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Dick, but the whole Army’s short. No one planned on fighting in the middle of winter.”

Winters ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at how long the copper bangs were already and how they clung to his fingers. He desperately needed a shower and a haircut but that just wasn’t going to happen out here.

He and Nixon were huddling around their small propane stove, eagerly waiting to wrap their frigid fingers around the fire warmed mug of coffee just beginning to percolate. The CP was much fuller than it had been in Bastogne. Less men were needed to hold the line right now, and more paperwork was required, so the office was full of people doing the necessary tedium of war when the unmistakable sound of a jeep cut through the froze air.

Winters didn’t really think anything of it. There hadn’t been any word of an engagement, so the jeep probably wasn’t bearing off some wounded to the aid station – barring frostbite and trench foot related injuries – all too common out here.

He breathed a sigh as the jeep cut off its engine outside of the CP. _Definitely not a wounded man, then_ , he thought with relief. _Probably someone from Regiment_.

He turned to greet their visitor, surprised to see Colonel Sink shedding his winter hat and shaking off the snow that had dared to drift on the Colonel’s person.

“Hello, Dick," said Sink, spotting Winters immediately. “I’ve got something for you.”

Winters steeled himself for a grim assignment indeed if Sink felt it necessary to deliver the news in person. He felt Nixon get up and come to stand next to him.

“I haven’t heard anything, sir,” said Nixon slanting a look at Winters.

 _This must be big_.

Sink cleared his throat, the well suppressed traces of the cough that was plaguing the whole Battalion. Another man, gone unnoticed in a nondescript long coat in Army green, stepped around Sink and entered the CP.

Winters scanned the man. Dark hair, some stubble – which wasn’t uncommon now that they were in the dead of winter – dark eyes and slightly shorter than Sink, and therefore Winters himself, and most importantly, dressed warmly. All this, combined with the way the man held himself, Winters dismissed him as an aid of some kind, clearly not a frontline soldier – you could always tell who those guys were – but this man was far more likely to be some paper-pusher from division.

“Gentleman, this is Robert Flack. He’s a _New York Times_ correspondent," Sink informed them. “He’s here to do a piece on Staff Sergeant Buchanan.”

Nixon laughed. It was a mocking sound to Winters ears. “What’s she done now?”

The man, Flack, responded. “She declined a pass to go home.”

Nixon let out another huff of laughter, and shot a side glance at Winters who caught the gaze. Nixon had also declined a pass home, and no one was here to write about him. This was yet someone else who wanted to rake Buchanan through the mud, and somehow had managed to get Sink’s permission to do it.

“Now, I want you and your boys to give Mr. Flack your full cooperation.”

“Sir?” said Nixon, sounding disbelieving.

“A word, sir?” Winters intervened before Nixon could stick his foot in his mouth.

Sink nodded and led Winters a few steps away, symbolically making their discussion private without it actually becoming so, and then answered Winters’s question before he could even ask it. “Now, Dick. I know that we haven’t had the best experience with the press on this issue. It’s a damned shame what the papers have been printing instead. This could be the one chance we’ve got to set the record straight.”

“Yes, sir,” said Winters, knowing he couldn’t quite hide his distaste.

“Good man, Dick. Now we’d better go rescue the poor man before Nixon chews him up and spits him back out.

Winters cast a dry look over and replied, “I think it’s too late for that, sir.”

Sink looked for himself and laughed. “So it seems. Well now!” he called out, interrupting Nixon’s interrogation. “I’ll leave you men to it.”

With a nod, Sink left.

Winters looked over at Nixon and tried not to sigh at the contempt on his friend’s face.

“So Flack,” said Nixon. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Miss Buchanan –“

“Sergeant,” Winters interrupted.

“I’m sorry?” said Flack, wrong-footed.

“Staff Sergeant actually,” said Winters. “She made Staff Sergeant in Holland.”

Flack wrote the information down before getting back on track. “Staff Sergeant Buchanan declined a pass home.”

“Yes,” said Winters. “She made the decision to stay with the men instead.”

“Indeed,” said Flack. “I was hoping you would be able to offer some insight to the reasons behind that decision?”

Winters studied the man. “Aren’t people sick of reading about the ‘first female in combat’ by now?”

The reporter shifted in his seat before responding. “Her decision to decline a pass home, after thousands of letters were sent to General Eisenhower on her behalf, has thrust Sergeant Buchanan back into the spotlight.”

“The last time Sergeant Buchanan was in the spotlight, papers, like the _Times_ , trashed her reputation,” Winters noted.

“The American people don’t care about her reputation,” said Flack.

Winters met Nixon’s flashing gaze, willing his friend to hold his piece. They’d talked before about how the papers had dragged Ev’s reputation through the mud. Neither man had ever seen a single reporter during their tenure at Toccoa, despite the majority of the articles involving the woman being published at that time. Despite many so called quotes from ‘people close to Buchanan’, neither man felt any of the material published was the true in the slightest. Winters knew it had colored more than one of their incoming replacement’s opinions of the woman. It wasn’t something either of them was likely to forget, or overlook.

“She’s famous,” continued the reporter. “People see that she’s still out here and that the boys around her are doing well.”

Winters exchanged another loaded glance with Nixon.

Flack didn’t understand. Ev was every bit as much “out here” and “doing well” as any of the boys. Flack was talking about Ev and Easy Company like they were separate entities. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Winters could admit to himself that it had been true once, when she’d first joined up, but that had changed a long time ago. Ev was as much a member of Easy Company as any of them, more so even, because she was among the elite still left of the original Toccoa veterans.

All of Easy Company’s current NCOs were Toccoa veterans, selected for their leadership qualities. Because the paratroopers were an all-volunteer unit, promising the toughest training the Army could dream up, it had attracted a unique kind of soldier to even attempt it, and only the very best of those men made it through training, let alone combat to get to this point. It said a lot about Ev’s determination and charisma to have gone from the outcast to a respected NCO _before_ Easy Company made it to combat and promotions were handed out to survivors like candy out of sheer desperation for leadership and order.

“Staff Sergeant Buchanan is one of the most respected soldiers out here,” said Nixon with a sharp smile. It was uncanny how Nixon was able to sum up all of Winters’ thoughts into a concise sentence that neatly avoided all of the potential political pitfalls inherent in trying to explain fully.

“I wasn’t implying that she wasn’t,” said Flack, eyebrow raised. “After training with her, and I’m sure experiencing the pitfalls of having a woman along in the trenches, do you support letting women into the army?”

“Yes,” said Nixon unequivocally. “If all the women applying for the Army are like Evelyn Buchanan, the Army would be better off with them than without.”

"Staff Sergeant Buchanan is one of only three people in Easy Company to achieve expert marksmanship status,” said Winters, before Nixon could get himself into trouble. “What's extraordinary about Buchanan is that her shooting isn't what makes her exceptional, she's also one of the most respected NCOs in Easy Company. She has excellent situational awareness and combat tactics and is an asset in the field. She works tirelessly to earn the respect of both her subordinates and commanders.”

Flack’s long fingered hand, with obnoxiously clean fingernails was furiously jotting notes for a long moment. "And you've been her CO since training? Can you tell me how her training varied from that of the other men?"

Winters shifted and stuffed his hands into his armpits for warmth. "Well, I was only a platoon leader then, but to my knowledge, it didn't. Buchanan had to pass a brief probationary examination to make sure she was physically fit enough to survive the training. To my knowledge she passed it with no problem, even surpassing some of the men’s fitness scores before joining the unit. Our Company Commander at the time, as well as higher military officials, deemed her more than ready to integrate with the men. Since then she has received no special treatment of any kind."

The reporter nodded along with him, but his eyes were scanning the page, reading over what he'd written. "Have there been any problems with Buchanan's gender amongst the other soldiers?"

Winters thought of the brawls on her behalf and the incidents that had sparked them, and decided immediately they were nobody else's business. Easy Company took care of their own.

"Sergeant Buchanan has composed herself in every way in accordance with the highest standards of the Armed Forces of the United States."

“That wasn’t what I asked,” said Flack, a dog with a bone.

Winters tried again. “No, there were no problems.”

Flack protested. “Look, I’m not trying to muckrake anyone. Sergeant Buchanan is a national hero and everybody back home just wants to know more about her. I’m not here to cause trouble, just get some firsthand accounts direct from the people who know her best and, hopefully, the lady herself as well. I just want to know the truth.”

“The truth is that Sergeant Buchanan is an excellent soldier. I would have her at my back on any mission, anywhere. She’s earned her rank and her place with us. I’m glad she stayed. It would have been impossible to replace her.”

“Anything to add, sir?” Flack directed at Nixon.

Nixon gave the man an empty smile. “That just about covers it.”

Flack slipped his notebook back into his pocket and held out his hand to Winters.

"Thank you so much for your time, Captain. Don't suppose you could point me in the direction of Sergeant Buchanan’s Platoon?"

"Sure," said Winters as he shook the man's hand for what he hoped would be the last time. He could see the dissatisfaction plain as anybody, and tightened his grip in a silent warning. "Jackson," he said, catching sight of the young man.

Private Jackson, who'd been listening quietly from the corner, came over. Winters looked back at the reporter and introduced them. "Jackson is in Sergeant Buchanan's squad. He'll take you up to the line." Jackson saluted him and then briskly walked out of the CP, Flack a step behind.

“I don’t like him,” said Nixon.

“Yeah,” said Winters, unwilling to make a judgment just yet. “We’ll see how this article comes out.”

Nixon nodded and opened his mouth to say something else.

“All done, Gentlemen?” Colonel Sink interrupted them before Nixon could say anything. “Good. I want to hear your thoughts on taking Foy. Do you have the casualty reports for Fox Company? I’m thinking about having them lead the charge.”

“Right here, sir,” said Winters, digging around in the mass of papers for the casualty report that had come in this morning, putting all thoughts of reporters away as he turned his mind back to the war.

-

Flack knew that Winters and Nixon had held out on him, leaving out far more than they’d actually said aloud. He’d known they were smart. They hadn’t answered his last question at all, dodging neatly with the party line that everything had gone well. Flack was willing to eat his pencil whole if that was really the way of things.

He’d just have to get the men to give him something. This young man Winters had assigned him to, Jackson, looked like a surly fellow, dark hair and eyes and a shifty look about him, jumpy. After a few weeks out here, Flack could see how anyone would be.

Maybe he’d be willing to play ball? And a little less cautious than his commanders to speak out of turn and spill the truth.

“So, your name’s Jackson?”

-

Jackson didn't like the reporter on principle.

Before joining the Airborne, he'd read the articles printed about Sergeant Buchanan. Everyone had. There were several to choose from.

Some painted her as little better than a whore, hinting that sexual favors were behind her continued presence in the Army. Others claimed she had completely undermined the integrity of the Airborne because there was no way a woman could keep a level-head in combat, let alone pull her own weight. Each of these articles made one opinion clear; Evelyn Buchanan was going to get the men around her killed while they tried to rescue her.

Sure, there were a few articles that noted her successes, but these were few and far between. Scandals sold papers after all, not inspirational pieces. And even those articles uplifting her seemed to indicate that she was doing it for some political gain, a publicity stunt to promote her father's prestigious position in the Senate.

Jackson was ashamed to say that he'd believed it, believed all the hype and jumped up nonsense about Buchanan.

It had pissed him off when he learned that he was going to be put into Easy Company for no reason other than Buchanan's presence. Easy must be aptly named if a woman was able to keep up. Or maybe it was some sexual innuendo about her in particular. Regardless, he felt certain that he was doomed to be relegated to the sidelines so the woman wouldn't endanger them all. Surely, despite Easy Company’s record (which could easily be trumped up) they weren’t actually going to see combat with a woman along.

He'd quickly found out that that was not the case.

Worse, he couldn't think of one guy who joined at the same time he did who wasn't thinking the same.

He'd stubbornly stuck to his guns – the Army, much less the Airborne was no place for a woman – right up until he actually met her. It took only one day for him to realize a couple of things. First: Sergeant Buchanan was damn good at her job. She was level-headed in a fight and always managed to approach a situation logically. She looked after her guys first and foremost and did her best not to take risks, tried to find the best solution that would bring everyone home and get the job done. Jackson always felt better going up knowing he was going under Buchanan.

Second: The rumors about her were ridiculous. The idea of Buchanan shirking a fight was hogwash. She'd put more Krauts in the ground than nearly anyone in the company. Most guys would attest to it. She was a damn fine shot. And she certainly didn't need the men in Easy to stick up for her. Buchanan was as good a soldier as any man in the Company, and she proved it over and over again.

Jackson was angry it had taken him so long to see it. He fervently blamed the articles, and the reporters who wrote them, for giving him such a bias against Sergeant Buchanan in the first place. He, and a lot of other replacements, wasted a lot of time testing her metal instead of getting ready for combat, and it wasn’t something he was ready to just forgive.

So, no, he didn't care for the reporter at all. And story or no, the man had no right to go snooping around Sergeant Buchanan.

“So, your name’s Jackson?” said the reporter.

Jackson nodded briskly and kept walking. He didn’t want to talk to the reporter.

“You’re in Sergeant Buchanan's squad?" the reporter tried again.

"That's right," said Jackson, defensive as he scanned the crowd to find where Sergeant Buchanan and the rest of his squad had ended up. He didn’t look at the reporter, didn’t want to see the man scribbling down the information to use it against Ev later.

"Is she a good sergeant?" the man persisted, coming up to stand next to him and getting in the way as he looked for his friends. Jackson glared at the man, feeling just a touch smug when the man backed down, and modified the question. “… from your perspective?”

"The best," Jackson agreed, letting the brevity add weight to his words that flowery descriptions couldn't.

Silence reined again save for the wind and the crunch of the snow beneath their boots. Flack cleared his throat awkwardly and opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted as he tripped, his footing disappearing from under him. The snow had completely masked the hole in the road, and he flailed in surprise, question lost in the frantic rush to pull himself back to rights.

Jackson didn’t bother to hide his amusement, savagely thinking: _Serves you right_! as the reporter righted himself. He would’ve like to see the reporter face-plant in the snow.

-

Flack wouldn’t admit that the kid, probably ten years younger than himself, was very intimidating.

The kid – really he didn’t look old enough to shave – led him along quietly after that. Flack accepted that the kid just wasn’t going to talk to him, but he’d given away more than he was probably aware of.

Buchanan had Jackson’s undivided loyalty. He liked his sergeant enough to defend her from all threats, even ones like nosy reporters. It wasn’t uncommon with soldiers. Flack had seen more than his share of closing ranks against outsiders as a war correspondent, but he was more than a little surprised to find it so strong in this unit.

Jackson led him deeper into the camp in silence, the set of his shoulder dissuading any attempts at conversation. The foxholes became more frequent, one every five or six feet with two or more soldiers huddled beneath tree cover. Flack took note of the mess tent and a few other “buildings” that were nothing more than tarp stretched between two trees.

Jackson finally stopped next to a collection of foxholes that looked no different from the other collections of foxholes they'd passed in the last ten minutes, except that Jackson acknowledged the people in them.

Following Jackson's impatient hand motion to wait a minute, Flack watched the kid head towards a specific foxhole.

"Jackson, what're you doin'," a man hissed from the foxhole right next to Flack, giving the man a heart attack. He hadn't even realized there were people in that hole until they'd said something.

Looking down, there were three of them, a guy with green eyes and somewhat lanky brown hair, longer than standard military regulations, a very pale fellow with dark eyebrows and blue eyes, and a redhead, also with bright blue eyes.

"Reporter," said Jackson turning back to address the men and indicating Flack with a negligent wave of his hand. "Winters wants him to interview Sergeant Buchanan."

The men in the foxhole exchanged look Flack couldn't decipher. "We'll take it from here, you head on back to the CP," said the redhead.

"You got it, Sarge," said Jackson smiling. He left without even a nod for the reporter as he turned on his heel back the way they'd come and hurried away.

"Don't mind him," said the redhead, hopping out of the hole and leading Flack in almost the completely opposite direction from where they were going, distinctly not back towards the CP but deeper into camp. _Perhaps Buchanan moved and Jackson just didn’t know about it?_ thought Flack.

His new guide’s friend with the lanky brown hair joined them after a hushed conversation with the guy staying behind, losing the argument based on raised eyebrows of the guy who was staying behind.

"I'm Don Malarkey, Sergeant," said the redhead.

"Bob Flack, I'm a reporter for the _New York Times_."

"Right," Malarkey drawled, "This here's Skip, well Warren, I guess, Muck."

"I go by Skip," said Muck.

"So what's this about interviewing Sergeant Buchanan?" said Malarkey leading the way.

"Oh," said Flack, thrown by these two enthusiastic guys when Jackson had been so surly. "The _Times_ wants to do a piece on her."

"Didn't they already do one?" said Muck, a sharp edge to his tone that made something tighten in Flack's stomach.

"That was a few years ago," explained Flack. "She's big news since she turned down that pass home."

"What-"

"Wait-"

Flack was somewhat impressed at how in synch the two men were; they whirled on him as a unit and began interrogating him.

"No way," said Malark. "What's this about a pass home?"

Flack was confused. _How could they possibly not have already heard about it_? "After the news broke of the 101st being surrounded, a letter campaign was started petitioning the Army to release Sergeant Buchanan from the Army and get her a ride back to the States. She turned it down."

"No kidding," said Malark, eyebrows near his hairline.

"Jesus," whispered Muck. "A free ride home?"

"Yes," confirmed Flack.

The two men started walking again, taking him off into the direction of the other foxholes. They seemed confident that they knew where they were going. "Have you guys known Sergeant Buchanan long?" Flack asked.

"Oh yeah," said Muck. "We all trained at Toccoa together."

"Really?" said Flack, pulling out his notebook and trying to write and not fall on his face at the same time.

"Yeah," said Malarkey. "We were all pretty certain she'd drop out, you know just quit and go home like anyone with brains."

"Why?"

"Well, I wanted to quit," confided Malarkey. "I'm pretty sure everyone did. But we all pushed through."

"Buchanan is one tough broad," said Muck. Someone caught his eye. "Excuse me," he said and darted off, leaving Flack alone with Malarkey.

Flack heard the man crow: “Hey guys, guess what?" but ignored it to ask another question.

"So what was the training like?"

"It was tough," said Malarkey. "Tougher than they said it would be, and they said it was going to be tailored to finding the best of the best. Only the best made it through Toccoa, Ev included," he tacked on at the end, just in case it wasn't clear.

"Any particular memories you can share with me? Maybe about Sergeant Buchanan, but training in general will do if you don't have a particular story."

"Well," said Malarkey thinking. There were a lot of stories to pick from, but one stood out in his mind. "Okay, so Thanksgiving day, right? Every other battalion in the 506 gets a day of rest and feasting, but not us, oh no, instead we got to go through pig guts in the obstacle course. Most disgusting thing I ever did. That's the kind of training we did to be the best."

Flack's nose was wrinkled just thinking about it. Thinking on the question Winters and Nixon had dodged, he tried a different angle. "So were there any pranks?"

Malarkey shrugged. "Not really," he said, while his face had a grimace of distaste. "Most of the time we were too busy or too tired to mess with each other."

"I see," said Flack, knowing that his question was being dodged again. "What’s Sergeant Buchanan like, NCO to NCO? I gathered that you’re in the same platoon?"

"Yeah, I run the heavy machinery squad; mortars," he clarified. "She's good. She takes care of her guys, and she's always willing to help out, get things done no matter what it is. I'm not sure what to tell you because I'm not sure exactly what you're looking for."

 _Damn_ , thought Flack as his question was dodged again. _Time to try a new tactic_. "Does she have any friends in the company?"

"All the Toccoa guys are pretty close, but you're probably going to want to talk to Liebgott, and maybe the Doc. They're her best friends out here."

"Any idea where I can find them?"

Malarkey took a moment to scan the crowd before pointing at a helmet that looked just like any other. "That's Liebgott."

"You can tell from here?" asked Flack surprised.

Malarkey just smiled at him. "That's him all right."

"Thanks," said Flack as he hurried off to catch up with Liebgott before he disappeared.

-

Malark watched the civilian for a moment, making sure he didn't double back, before he went to go find someone to tell the news. He couldn't fucking believe that Ev had given up a ride home to stick it out with them. He caught sight of Martin and decided to tell him first.

He’d heard Skip already telling Luz, and he knew it would be all over camp within the hour. If he wanted to tell anyone himself – be the first to spread the first new piece of gossip in over a month – he had to act fast.

He booked it to the first foxhole he saw and squatted down to talk to the two familiar men within. “Hey Martin, Bull, did you hear what Ev did?”

“What is it, Malark?” Martin grumped, probably upset that his beauty rest had been disturbed.

“Well, she…”

-

Flack hurried, trying to catch up to the helmet bobbing and weaving its way through the soldiers and not fall again in his rush. If he lost the guy now, he wasn’t sure he’d find him again. And he was desperate for _something_ to give this story life.

His progress in coming up with something new for his article was disheartening. He was the first reporter to actually have firsthand access to Easy Company and no one would talk to him. And when they did talk to him, no one had a single negative thing to say about her! Each answer was carefully, diplomatically worded to be absolutely politically correct. Winters had said basically the exact same thing Sink had: Buchanan was a good soldier who’d earned her rank. No explanations as to _how_ she’d earned it; blatant denial that there were any problems whatsoever with integrating a woman into an elite military force. Flack wasn’t stupid, there had absolutely been problems, but if no one told him about them, he couldn’t print them.

Besides that he had no indication that the stonewalling he'd been getting from the soldiers wasn’t just from closing ranks against outsiders, or if it was due to genuine respect for Buchanan.

Malarkey had been less than helpful as an interviewee over all. He probably couldn't use the pig guts story at all, and that was basically the only new piece of information he'd given. What was it going to take to get some real dirt on her?

Maybe, if he was very lucky, Liebgott would be a bed friend, not just a best friend. If he could confirm it, it would be the scoop of the year, cover guaranteed!

Now he just had to catch the blasted man.

"Excuse me!" he shouted at the figure walking away from him. The man gave no sign of hearing him. "Liebgott?" he called out.

Still nothing. He started to jog.

"Hey!" he called out as he caught up with him and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. It was a mistake. Without warning, the man spun around and got right in his face.

"Goddamnit, what?" the man snarled, teeth gnashing together, rage openly displayed.

Flack leapt backwards and nearly toppled over in surprise. Never in all his years as a reporter had he been met with such open hostility.

"I'm Robert Flack," he said, collecting himself. "I'm a reporter –"

"A reporter from New York. Yeah, I know. Jackson told me all about you and your article."

"Oh?" said Flack. He decided to play this optimistically and opened his notebook to a new page. It served the added bonus of preventing him from fidgeting nervously under the intense scrutiny. "Well, then you know it's about Sergeant Buchanan?" He decided to take the glare Liebgott leveled him as confirmation and pressed on despite the fear curling in his belly. Liebgott looked like he was about to spit nails. "I've heard that you're one of her closest friends."

"Is that right?" said Liebgott, staring down at Flack though they were of the same height. “And what's it to ya?"

"Uh, well, with the article and all – "

"What the hell are you doin' here?" demanded Liebgott, flipping the conversation out from under him and going on the attack. "You're just some schmuck with a work exemption who thinks he's got a right to come around here digging up dirt about Buchanan 'cause she's a dame in the Army.

"You better get this through your skull right now, pal, there's no dirt here. No scandal, no headline, just a bunch of soldiers slogging forward one scrap of dirt at a time to push the Krauts back to Germany. Out here, Buchanan is just another NCO, and damn good one at that. So why don't you just-"

"Look," protested Flack cutting Liebgott off before the man really got going. A dim distant part of him was impressed at the soldier’s restraint. Despite his vitriol and the gross invasion of Flack’s personal space, Liebgott had yet to raise his voice above a snarl. "I'm not here to cause a fuss. I'm here to tell stories from the front lines that’ll motivate people back home to buy war bonds–"

"You wanna help?" interrupted Liebgott, speaking over top of the reporter instead of waiting for a pause. "Pick up a Goddamn rifle and get to work."

Flack was tired of being on the defensive and tried his own attack. "Are you protecting her?" he demanded, cutting Liebgott off for a change.

He reconsidered his tactic when Liebgott's already angry face darkened.

"Yeah, I am," admitted Liebgott, taking a step further into the man's personal space; their chests were so close Flack couldn't take a deep breath without bumping Liebgott. "What of it? So is every other guy out here. And you wanna know why?" He paused to take a breath.

Flack nodded his head, but didn't have the courage to say anything. He'd pushed Liebgott so far, and now he was going to get the reward for it: an honest answer.

-

Lieb wasn't in the mood for this. He couldn’t fucking believe that Ev had given up a fucking pass home. An actual pass, free and clear! No more cold, no more hunger, no more death and finding bodies under fresh snow.

Stupid, stubborn _broad_!

She could be _home_ , and warm and dry by now, and a tiny part of him would have been _happy_ for her. Happy she was safely out of the way from this icy level of hell.

But she hadn’t taken it.

And, what really rankled, if he was completely honest with himself, he couldn’t blame her.

It simply wasn’t in her character to abandon them, especially out here, especially under Dike.

It was a chance any man would’ve done just about anything for, and she’d chosen not only to stay with them, but to keep it a secret – probably because she knew how priceless it was.

And here was some reporter trying to screw her over for it.

_Well, fuck that._

"Because Sergeant Buchanan’s one of us. She's been one of us since the day she put on this fucking uniform. She could be back home or sitting in some cushy little job like you – she's got more excuse too because she's a dame – but she's not. She's out here, getting her ass kicked every day with the rest of us, slogging forward one scrap of dirt at a time. No better or worse than anybody else, and she's never acted like she was. Put that in your stupid article, or better yet, shove it up your ass."

-

There was nothing that Flack could say to such an acerbic – and fiercely loyal – response. He ended up making only the tiniest fraction of a nod to show he’d understood what Liebgott was saying, and what he wasn’t.

This was a man who was loyal to Evelyn Buchanan and her cause. He considered her decision to join them courageous and noble, and he obviously respected the hell out of the woman.

Liebgott stepped back, giving Flack the meanest smile the reporter had ever seen. It suddenly struck Flack that this man was a soldier; he killed people, maybe even lots of people in the last six months or so, had been conditioned to do it without question.

As the man turned away, Flack could clearly see the M-1 slung across Liebgott’s back and suddenly realized that for all his posturing and implied threats, the man had never once reached for his weapon. There were moment’s Flack would’ve bet money that Liebgott had been so enraged he was going to haul back and punch the reporter right in the mouth, but he’d never even used the weapon as a prop for his implied threat.

Flack wondered why that was, but he certainly wasn't going to ask Liebgott about it.

Honestly, if Flack never found himself in Liebgott's presence again, well that would be all right by him. The man was a loose cannon.

"Hey, Liebgott!" a man called, halting Liebgott's retreat.

"Yeah, Sarge?" answered Liebgott.

To Flack's surprise, Liebgott’s whole demeanor shifted. The soldier’s entire stance and demeanor changed into someone acting utterly respectful, pausing to wait for the man to get closer.

"Martin's looking for you,” said the other soldier with a smile. “Squad meeting."

"You got it, Lip," said Liebgott. He shot one last scornful look at Flack over his shoulder before storming off to parts unknown.

Flack stared after the man, taking a deep breath now that he was able to breathe freely. That was probably the most interesting interview of his career thus far; definitely the most terrifying. He wondered if Liebgott was always so unpleasant or if the situation in the Bulge was more dire than Command was letting on. If Liebgott was really one of Buchanan's closest friends, what exactly did that say about the woman herself?

 _Maybe she’s a saint_? Flack thought watching the man mingle with a group of soldiers a ways off, seeming to blend in without a problem. _Or maybe he just doesn’t like me?_

"Don't mind him," said the sergeant who’d called Liebgott away.

First Sergeant, Flack determined based on the amount of chevrons on his arm. He had an earnest face with a scar decorating his right cheekbone near a straight nose. He'd been taking the effort to shave, which Flack had noticed most men, including Liebgott, had given up on some time ago. That spoke to discipline, but his voice was kind.

He wondered if the man knew he was a reporter yet. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d be ready for another encounter similar to the one he’d just had, but he didn’t see the inherent dislike that he’d seen in Liebgott’s face on this soldiers, despite searching for it.

Maybe the First Sergeant was simply the kind of man who looked out for everyone?

"Hm?" asked Flack, finally noticing that the First Sergeant was staring at him, waiting for acknowledgement.

"Liebgott," said the First Sergeant. "He and Buchanan haven't always been friends."

Flack was puzzled. “Not always friends?” After Liebgott’s stalwart defense of the woman? Maybe guilt had been driving his anger?

The man, “Lip” if he’d heard Liebgott right, tucked his hands deeper into his elbows, face twisting in either a smile or a grimace. “Well…”

There was the story he’d been chasing. He could read it on “Lip’s” face. The hints of how it had really gone for Buchanan in the beginning.

“It just took him a while to warm up to her is all.”

And there it went, unacknowledged once again. Damn it.

Still, at least this “Lip” wasn’t angry at him for reasons unknown. That put him heads and shoulders above trying to get anything out of Liebgott.

"I'm Bob Flack," he said, introducing himself for the first time, holding out his hand to shake.

"Carwood Lipton," said the First Sergeant with a nod, but he didn't shake Flack's hand, preferring to keep his hands tucked up under his armpits for warmth. Flack sympathized, he didn’t have gloves either.

"Nice to meet you,” Flack said for manners sake before getting back to the story that had been alluding him all day, desperate for something. “You said they weren’t always friends?"

"Hm? Oh," said Lipton, sounding far away. "Yeah, I don't think they got to be friends until… must've been in Normandy."

"Really? Hadn't you all been together for two years by then?”

"That’s about right," agreed Lip with a shrug. "In the beginning there, we were all pretty sure that she was going to washout."

“Why? Didn't she pass a fitness test?"

"There's a big difference between being fit for training and actually training," Lipton explained.

"Was it hard training with a girl?" Flack threw out as he dug around in his pocket for his notebook and pencil.

Flack was shocked by the ferocity in Lipton’s gaze. "Like training with anyone else I guess," the man answered.

Flack coughed to hide his discomfort. "So there weren't any issues integrating her?"

"Not really. I mean, there were a few hiccups," admitted Lip, but didn’t elaborate to Flack’s dismay. "Eventually, she just blended right in."

"Eventually? What does that mean?” Flack asked eagerly. He felt like he was pulling on a delicate thread with the potential to unravel the whole weave or snap if he yanked too hard.

“It means that eventually the guys stopped noticing Buchanan was a girl and started treating her just like any other soldier.”

“And they weren’t before?”

“It’s complicated,” said Lipton. “You've got to understand, the point of Basic is to push you past your limits, force you do things you didn’t think you could do. Most of the time, you're too exhausted to even move, much less go out of your way to make someone else miserable. It's just a waste of energy. There may have been one or two pranks played in the entirety of Basic. Buchanan stuck it out. There's something to be said for that since a lot of guys didn't make it, and they didn't have to deal with the isolation the way she did."

“Isolation?” Flack asked, taking notes as fast as he could move his pen.

“She was segregated from the group during her initial probation to make sure she was physically fit enough to join the men. And then when she did join us, well, she mostly kept to herself.”

"Really?" said Flack stalling while he furiously wrote the information down. "Is there anyone I can talk to who really knows her then?"

"Well, you've already talked to Liebgott."

Flack could feel his shoulders creeping up to join his ears as he imagined Liebgott's diatribe should he attempt to interview to the man again. “Is there _anyone_ else?”

Lip shifted. "If you can pin him down, you should probably talk to Eugene Roe. He's one of the company medics."

"Okay," said Flack, making a note and circling the name. "Any particular reason why?"

"They've been friends for a while. I'm not really sure when it actually happened, but by the time we got to Aldbourne, they were good friends. It’s an odd pairing."

"What do you mean?" Flack asked eagerly, hoping that Lip was hinting that they might be “bed” friends, but trying to keep it out of his voice.

The First Sergeant must’ve heard it anyway, or guessed the direction of Flack’s thoughts, and shot him a disapproving glance that had Flack feeling far more repentant than it should’ve. He shifted, suddenly realizing that his feet were aching and cold. Lip had been shifting the entire conversation, keeping up a constant movement to keep warm. Flack, who'd only been out in the cold a few hours, hadn't yet mastered the art of continuous motion.

"Doc Roe's not really friends with anybody,” said Lip, ignoring Flack’s implications. “It's a lot harder when the guy bleeding to death in your hands is your friend," explained Lip. "Buchanan is as close as he gets."

"So they’re _not_ friends?" asked Flack, thoroughly confused.

"They are," said Lip. "Buchanan’s like Doc, keeps to herself most of the time. Maybe she just gave up after a while? We probably didn't help, stonewalling her when she first joined the company. Or maybe she knew her reputation was going to get dragged through the mud and didn't want to drag anyone into it.”

Lip was giving Flack his own threatening stare now, somehow twice as frightening as Liebgott’s.

Flack suddenly realized that _this_ had been Lip’s goal in being so cooperative. He’d been trying to figure out Flack’s motive by feeding him just enough of several different stories and seeing which ones the reporter latched on to.

Flack wasn't stupid enough to offend the best source he'd had all fucking day by insinuating something. Lip knew what he'd said could be misconstrued into an argument that Buchanan was “bed” friends with Roe, and perhaps others, and she was simply discrete about them, trying to coax Flack into the trap.

Lipton’s nice guy routine was a clever façade for a wickedly intelligent man, looking out for his friend.

The implication behind what wasn’t being said was astonishing.

Was it actually possible that Evelyn Buchanan had somehow managed to get through basic training and a war without leaning on any male support other than the basic camaraderie that all soldiers received? If she wasn’t sleeping her way to the top and instead managed to become an NCO from sheer merit as all the soldier’s he’d interviewed implied…

 _Maybe there is a story here_ , thought Flack, starting to feel the first tingle of excitement that proceeded some of his best work.

"Is there anyone else I should talk to?" he asked, instead of addressing Lipton’s statement head on.

Lip thought about it. "She and Bull – that’s Sergeant Randleman – got pretty close after that incident in Holland, but they're in different Platoons so they don't see much of each other. I’m not sure how much help he’ll be."

"Holland?" said Flack, pouncing on the story.

Lip shifted, but answered. "During one of the attacks in Market Garden, Sergeants Randleman and Buchanan went missing overnight. They were recovered by a search team the next morning. They were trapped in a barn overnight while the Krauts cleared out of the town we’d hit that morning. I don't know much more than that. You'll have to ask Ev or Bull if you want to know more."

“I will, thanks,” said Flack, still jotting down some of the particulars before he forgot them under the influx of information.

Lipton watched the reporter. His assessment of the man was mixed. He’d expected the first reporter with the balls to come in to Easy Company for a story about Buchanan would be a little more blood thirsty. He’d certainly pissed Liebgott off – not that it was particularly hard to do – but Lipton wasn’t blind to the opportunity that the man offered. If he could get this reporter on Buchanan’s side, then a lot of the problems they’d been having with the replacements coming in might just go away. But the man was proving himself easy to talk to, and that probably made him one of the more dangerous reporters out there.

He sized up the still scribbling man once more and decided to take a risk and help the fella out.

“I know you’re just trying to do your job, Flack,” said Lipton, as the reporter stopped writing and caught his gaze, “but trying to dig up dirt on Buchanan isn’t the way to do it. Trust me, there’s nothing to find. If there was, the army would’ve bounced her out of here long ago.

“Ev’s too smart to get involved with someone out here. She’s not what the papers have made her out to be. Every time we get new guys in, they have to learn the hard way to leave her alone because the articles they’ve read back home make them think it’s okay.”

He paused to let that sink in before saying, “She’s a good sergeant. I need her out here. Don’t make something up that’ll get her kicked out just to sell some papers back home.”

Flack held Lip’s gaze for a minute before giving the sergeant a solemn nod. “I only write the truth, First Sergeant.”

The soldier nodded as well, his shoulder losing the tension that had them tight, obvious now that it was gone.

He still had some questions though. “Would it really just take one incident?”

With Buchanan's connections, people assumed she could get away with just about anything in the Army. It was why the rumors persisted so long. Surely if a Senator could get his daughter into the Army, he could keep her there.

Lip nodded, his face solemn. "Out of the Airborne, and out of the Army from my understanding. Nobody out here wants to see that happen."

Flack wasn’t sure there hadn’t been incidents anyway that had gone unreported, but he wasn’t foolish enough to expect a straight answer even if he asked the question.

Instead he tried a different tactic. “Would you mind answering a question, off the record? Have you ever considered it? Having a relationship with Buchanan?”

“You mean, if I wasn’t married?”

“Sure,” said Flack, recovering quickly.

Lip didn’t answer for a long moment.

Flack waited him out; this was the penultimate question after all. Lipton's answer might as well be the litmus test for the rest of the Company.

"No," Lip finally said. "No I haven't."

"Why not?" Flack asked.

Lip shrugged. "I don’t know. It’s…”

Flack waited while Lip composed his thoughts, pencil balanced on his pad of paper to get the whole answer.

“It’s a hard question. If we’d met outside the army? Maybe, maybe not. We’ve been through too much together, I guess. It’d be like dating my sister. She’s outta my league.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it. Somewhere along the line she became this symbol. If she could make it, keep going without complaint, well I could do it too. You don’t romance a symbol.”

"I understand," said he, even though he didn't at all. Flack didn't think his eyebrow was coming down. That was certainly a bizarre answer, but he supposed that at least it was honest.

"I don't really get it either,” said Lip with a shrug. “But I'm pretty sure the other guys all feel the same."

Flack nodded, and suddenly their conversation was over. There was a long beat of silence where neither had anything further to say, simply sizing each other up.

Flack stuck out his hand. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me," he said sincerely.

"My pleasure," said Lip, sounding like he meant it as he shook Flack’s hand.

It took a moment before Flack realized that the feeling welling up in his gut was a profound respect. Lip had not only rescued him from Liebgott, but then spent a good forty-five minutes talking with him, patiently – truthfully! – answering all the questions Flack had asked.

And Flack was profoundly grateful.

Lip coughed and shifted backwards. "The aid station's that way," he said, pointing in the direction of the conglomeration of three tents, all adorned with a red cross on white stretched over the roof. "You'll probably find Doc Roe there, if you wanted to talk with him next."

"Thanks," said Flack, intending to do just that.

"Watch out if he's busy,” Lip warned before he could go. “Doc may be soft-spoken, but he's part Cajun and has the temper of one. He tells you to back off or leave, you should probably do it."

"Good to know," said Flack intrigued. After interviewing the First Sergeant, he was feeling a lot more optimistic.

He just hoped Roe wasn't as surly as Liebgott. He didn't think he could go through that again.

He steeled himself and said, "Thanks again," before heading over to the tents.

"Good luck," called Lipton, watching the reporter go.

He hoped he hadn't made a mistake in sending Flack to bother Roe.

The medics were swamped with the influx of wounded coming in from all sides, despite the relief of a semi-stationary aid station.

Lipton scratched his cheek. There was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, a break would do Roe some good if he didn't spit the man back out in pieces once he was done tearing him to bits for interrupting him.

Lip tucked away a smile and headed out to go check on the line again.

A First Sergeant's work was never done.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. I hope you like this one, especially since this is another big departure from "normal". Updates are every Thursday. Please let me know if you liked it?


	36. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Robert Flack is sent to Easy Company to find out why Sergeant Buchanan rejected a pass home and (hopefully) dig up a good story while he's at it.
> 
> "I am doing a great work and I cannot come down. Why should the work stop while I leave it and come down to you?" - Nehemiah 6:3
> 
> Now: Flack searches out Evelyn's best friend, Eugene Roe to get his opinion on the matter at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Atman, FandomlyCroft, and Laura001 are amazing and helped whip this chapter into shape. Plus Aniset, who got this whole section off the ground.

-Chapter 36-

When Flack stepped inside the aid station, he wasn't expecting to be nearly flattened by a medic. The guy cussed him out, not even bothering to slow down as he made his way towards a surgeon's cry.

Flack flattened himself against the tent wall, scanning the faces for something, anything, to indicate which one of them was the man he was looking for. It took him a few minutes to realize the folly of this, almost as long as it took him to remember how to breathe around the smell assaulting his nose.

"It could be worse," said a man from his elbow, nearly giving Flack a heart attack. "Thank God it's freezing out here, keeps the dead from decaying. You've never in your life smelled anything worse than a couple hundred dead people rotting."

Flack's face twisted with horror.

The man laughed, eyes flicking disinterestedly over the reporter. "You're not a soldier," he deduced. "You injured or something?"

"I'm looking for someone," said Flack.

"Aren't you all?" the medic said dryly. "Excuse me," he said and then left Flack to go help sop up the blood that was bubbling out of a guy's stomach. The poor kid was still on a stretcher, probably fresh from the line.

Flack decided not to wait around and see if the man would come back when he’d finished – if he finished. He didn't think he could watch a second longer and not vomit.

He'd been a war correspondent long enough to have seen more than a few injuries before, but most of the time they'd been cleaned up at least a little before he'd had to interview them. The constant stream of guys coming into the aid station was nearly as long as the number of guys filing out. Medics ran amongst the bedlam, frantically trying to be in more than one place at a time.

It was chaos, pure and simple.

It took asking three more medics, each seemingly more busy than the last, before someone finally gave him the time of day.

"What's his name again?" the medic asked, moving quickly across the tent.

Flack checked his notes just to make sure. "Eugene Roe."

"I think there's a Roe over there," said the medic, pointing out a row of bunks. "Like the fifth bed in or so."

"Oh, no, he's a medic," said Flack.

"Oh, well in that case, never heard of him," said the guy.

"Are you sure? He's in Easy Company, Airborne, 506th?"

"Eagles right?"

Flack remembered seeing an eagle patch on the guys he'd talked to today. "Yeah."

"He stationed here?" said the medic. At Flack's bewildered look, he tacked on, "at the aid station?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Flack. "His First Sergeant said he'd probably be here."

"If he is here, he might be getting supplies for the line."

"Can you point me in that direction?"

"Outside and take a right. There's a stack of boxes; you should see the jeeps."

"Thanks," said Flack, happy to get out of the aid station.

The medic didn't even hear him as he darted off to help some incoming stretcher bearers.

If inside was chaotic, outside was a zoo. Dozens of medics were rushing around with boxes, stacking and restacking them in different piles as jeeps darted in and out of the area just as fast as they were loaded or unloaded as needed. The jeeps darted around the medics in a haphazard dance that was actually somewhat impressive.

It was nothing less than a mad scramble as the medics tried to get the supplies they needed before they got snatched up by someone else.

Taking a deep breath of the frozen air to fortify himself, he squared his shoulders before snagging one of the medics whose vision was too obscured by the box of supplies to avoid him.

"Do you know where I can find Eugene Roe?"

"Who?" asked the man after he'd cussed the reporter out for holding him up.

"Roe? He's a medic."

The medic rolled his eyes. "No shit," he snarled. "There's a lot of those around." He pulled away to walk off.

Flack wasn't going to give up this time without a fight. He followed the man. "He's in Easy Company, 506?"

The man sped up and hopped up into a jeep, box and all. "Never heard of him."

Flack watched the jeep pull out in dismay, _So much for that_.

With nothing else for it, Flack tried asking someone else, and then someone else when he didn't know, and then someone else when the next guy didn't know either.

Just as he was about to lose hope, finally someone answered, "The Cajun? Spina's buddy?"

"Yes!" said Flack, privately thinking, _Oh thank God._

The medic pointed to two guys loading up the latest in a long line of jeeps. "He's the lanky one on the left."

"Thank you," Flack said effusively, eyes riveted to the medic, all but ignoring the man who’d finally deigned to help him. He refused to take his eyes off his quarry now that he'd finally found him.

The medic he was ignoring didn't care, taking advantage of the reporter's distraction to hurry back to his tasks.

Flack broke into a jog, desperate to reach them before they finished and drove off in the jeep. He called out, "Eugene Roe?" when he got close enough to be heard.

"Yeah?" came the strangled answer as the lanky man heaved a crate that looked heavy enough to snap him in half onto the back of the jeep.

"You're Eugene Roe from Easy Company?" confirmed Flack. He almost couldn't believe that he'd actually found the man.

"Yep," he said.

Flack watched Roe pull a rope around the crate, lashing it securely to the jeep for travel. It only took him a moment, his hands whipping through knots with a proficiency born of a thousand repetitions.

Roe stood up, flicking sharp brown eyes up and down over the reporter’s form.

 _Checking for injuries_ , Flack realized.

"What do you need?" asked the Cajun, turning back to the pile of boxes the other medic, presumably Spina, was slowly creating, grabbing another box and popping the lid.

Flack caught sight of blankets before Roe snapped the lid back on the box, catching his breath while Roe worked. "My name's Robert Flack. I'm a reporter for the _New York Times_."

"Uh huh," said Roe as he shoved the box of blankets into the front seat by the driver. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here to do an article on Sergeant Buchanan."

Roe shot him a sharp look, assessing now and said, "All right.”

The medic grabbed a clipboard off the dash and checked something off the list.

Flack watched this and took note of the other medic approaching the pile of crates with yet another box of supplies in his arms. Looking at the already overfull jeep, Flack wondered how they planned on getting it all on there.

"I was wondering if maybe I could ask you some questions about her. First Sergeant Lipton said you two are close friends."

Flack got a huff of breath in response. He took it as an affirmative and pulled out his notebook.

"How long have you known Sergeant Buchanan?" he asked first.

"Since Toccoa," answered Roe flatly, which was supremely unhelpful, but at least the man was answering.

"And how long have you been friends?"

"Before combat, I guess," said Roe absently, now looking through a box of aid kits, briskly checking that each had a bandage, morphine and sulfa.

It was almost entrancing, watching the medic methodically go through each kit. Flack shook himself out of it and asked another question. "How did the friendship start?"

Roe didn’t answer.

Flack watched the two medics go through three more boxes, trying not to show his impatience.

He was loathe to interrupt the men, they obviously had a rhythm going and a lot left to do, but Flack didn’t have all day, not if he wanted to interview both Buchanan – if he could ever find the woman – and now this “Bull” Randleman as well, plus whatever else Easy Company decided to throw at him. This was his only chance to speak with Buchanan's best friend. Flack only had the rest of today before he was being shipped back to Paris. He had to get all the interviews done by then, or he'd be stuck writing the most lackluster piece of his career.

If that happened, well, the _New York Times_ had two very different options: the first was purchase some other newspaper's article about Buchanan and publish it after paying royalties; the second was replace him with some jumped up junior reporter.

Personally, Flack would wager that they'd do both, and if that happened, well, his days as a civilian would certainly be numbered before his number came up in the draft.

He liked his job. He liked not being shot at.

So if creating the best damn article ever written about Sergeant Buchanan meant interviewing the very surly members of her unit, then that's what he was going to do. And despite the distinct possibility that both of Sergeant Buchanan's friends were aggressive men who would like nothing more than to be left alone, well, he needed to interview them anyway. If this was the guy who knew Buchanan best, then he needed to talk to him, potential Cajun wrath or no.

Roe seemed like he was prepared to go on ignoring him indefinitely, preoccupied with sorting through the boxes and using the physical labor as an excuse to ignore the man questioning him.

Flack was used to this behavior. It generally indicated a difficult interview on the horizon.

His belly clenched in anticipation for the long fight. He vaguely wondered if Roe would be like Jackson, who was tight-lipped while he was snapping answers, or Liebgott who was liberal with his vitriol.

He braced himself as Roe opened his mouth to speak, pen at the ready to record whatever came out.

He didn’t get to hear it. Just then the other Easy Company Medic, Spina, came up on them and cut off whatever Roe was about to say. Flack vaguely noted the other soldier trailing behind Spina as he slipped into the driver seat and started the jeep up.

"Hey, Gene," said the man, completely disregarding the reporter. "I'm gonna run this stuff up the line. Why don't you take a break until I bring the next jeep back?”

-

Gene turned his displeasure on Spina, losing his train of thought. He could hear the worry in the other medic's tone. If Gene asked to go instead, Spina would stay behind and blow the reporter off. He could tell just by the look in the man's eyes. He'd probably even enjoy it.

He turned to look at the reporter, pen poised and looking so eager to talk to him, and just couldn't find it in himself to turn the man down. No matter how much he didn't want to talk to the man, particularly about Ev.

That said, going involved unloading all the boxes by himself and then coming back, which is why Spina offered to do it. Gene was well aware that the other medic was under strict orders to make him take it easy. Spina was one of very few people that Roe actually listened to when they told him that.

"You sure?" said Gene, double-checking even as he handed Spina the last of the crates – another box of miraculously unpilfered aid-kits. He ducked his eyes to avoid Spina's searching gaze.

After Lieutenant Welsh, he'd promised himself to listen more when Spina and Ev told him to take a breather, even when it usually just irked him. He knew they were only trying to help. He used to know his limits, but that week they'd been surrounded in Bastogne, holding on by their fingernails under constant bombardment had pushed him to his breaking point.

He felt a lot better now, particularly since the Company was in reserve for the moment, letting First Battalion lead the charge for a change. Gene still felt a feeling not unlike hunger or anxiety when he found himself with time on his hands though. He was glad Spina had let him come along to help him here. He knew well enough that Spina would've taken Babe along with him instead since the two were close friends. But the man had taken one look at the lost expression on Roe's face and offered him the job.

Roe was grateful. Idle hands invited self-reflection, and he didn't have any time or use for that.

"Yep, I got this," said Spina hopping into the jeep, settling the crate in his lap. "Go ahead and indulge the reporter. I'll be back in a jiff." He gave a nod to the driver, saying, "Let's go!" rather unnecessarily.

The jeep sped off in a whine of squealing tires, leaving the two men behind awkwardly sizing each other up.

-

Flack watched the jeep go, before turning back to look at Roe. Somehow, with nothing to do, the medic looked smaller, more tired, than before.

Roe's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh that fogged the air around his head. As though the curling puff of air reminded him, the medic dug into a pocket and pulled out a cigarette. A quick flick of long fingers and the man took a drag. Flack watched, oddly fascinated as Roe tucked away the lighter. There was something about this man. He couldn't put his finger on it, but just being around him made him feel lighter somehow, less stressed and worried. Perhaps it was because Roe looked like he'd been having a really bad day?

"Let's go over here," said Roe, speaking around the cigarette as though he was born with one in his mouth. He waved a hand in a vague "this way" gesture and walked towards the tent

Flack followed the man, watching as people flowed around them in some sort of deference to Roe. After all the people who claimed not to know him, Flack was expecting a less conspicuous reaction to him from the others, but something about Roe made people, even those rushing around with their vision obscured by boxes of supplies, get out of his way.

It wasn't the same kind of firm command that Winters or Sink had, where the two men entered the room and everyone stood up to take notice. It wasn't even Lipton's quiet competence. Flack wasn't sure what exactly it was, but he watched it with a fair amount of interest.

They seemed to reach their destination. Flack sat on one of the crates across from the one Roe had chosen to perch on. He politely turned his attention to the hullabaloo around them while the man finished his cigarette. There were plenty of interesting characters to watch. Flack was nothing if not an observer of people after all, and it gave him some time to think over the questions he wanted to ask.

Also, after Liebgott, a more cautious approach was probably warranted. He’d almost blown his chance – he knew that – and he didn’t want to lose his second one. Besides, Roe didn't seem to be in any particular hurry and Flack had nothing better to do at the moment than wait for him.

He turned over the facts in his mind. So far, he'd gathered that Sergeant Buchanan was a good NCO with no more or less expected of her than of her male counterparts. She was a good leader who inspired a good deal of loyalty in both her peers and her commanding officers. She kept to herself, as evidenced by the fact that nobody here seemed to even know about the pass home, much less that she'd turned it down.

Flack found it all a little hard to believe, though he did find that he did believe it nonetheless.

The reports he’d been hearing about Buchanan were just too good to be true. Sure he knew that the guys were only telling him the good things, but the fact that in all the guys he'd talked to today, not a single one of them had a single negative thing to say, was odd to say the least. There was always somebody, always that one person with a vendetta just waiting to unload all their negative opinions, true or not, to anyone who'd listen.

It was a lot more baffling than her refusal, that's for sure. Every time he thought he had a lead to some juicy anecdote, someone else would just counteract it with more PR bullshit. Every honest answer just left him more confused than the last. Flack was usually good at getting people to open up, but these men had closed ranks like nothing he'd ever seen.

He’d been almost certain he’d be walking in to a fractious unit, with Buchanan and her supporters on one side and the men who wanted her gone on the other as the very best case scenario. But that wasn’t the case at all.

How could all the other articles back home be so wrong?

What was the truth?

Flack wasn’t sure what he was going to write anymore. He’d somehow lost track of who was spinning a yarn and who was being honest with him. He couldn’t think why anyone would lie, though. But no one had given him a straight answer either.

Surely one woman's character couldn't be so hard to pin down?

"You're a reporter?"

The low timbre of Roe's voice jolted Flack out of his thoughts. His body bounced in fright. Somehow he'd completely forgotten about the medic. He pushed down the flush of embarrassment when he noticed that the man was staring at him, dark eyes amused and an eyebrow raised.

Roe flicked away the butt of his cigarette, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Flack cleared his throat and nodded. "That's right." Something in Roe seemed to tense, so Flack stopped speaking to study the other man once more.

The weariness in Roe's bearing robbed him of anything else to say. The best route, he decided, would be to let Roe take the lead and set the tempo of this interview.

Roe nodded thoughtfully. "And you're here about Ev?"

Flack's eyebrow rose at the easy address and made a note of it.

Roe noticed, and his lips settled into a frown. "Sergeant Buchanan?" the medic amended.

"That's right,” agreed Flack. “She's turning into quite the celebrity back home."

"Uh huh," Roe didn't seem surprised. "I've read about her in the papers before. Not a lot of it's good."

"This one isn't shaping up to be like those," Flack said honestly.

He wasn't sure exactly what the article was shaping up to be, but it was certainly going in a different direction than what he'd originally expected it to.

Roe huffed and pulled out another cigarette. The set of his shoulders, the way he leaned away, all subtle nonverbal cues that he didn’t believe the reporter at all.

"What do you wanna know?" asked Roe, taking a drag off his fresh cigarette as Flack flipped to a new page.

"Anything."

"What do you mean? Just anything?"

"Sure," agreed Flack. Specific questions hadn't worked so well thus far, so perhaps a new tactic would do better. "Whatever you can tell me, as long as it’s true."

Flack hoped he wasn't just being humored. He was still unduly nervous that Roe was just waiting to pounce with the temper Lipton had warned him about. He shook this away, resolved not to let one – albeit rather frightening – interview prevent him from doing his job.

"What's she like?" asked Flack, when Roe didn't answer after a long moment. So much for a different tactic. "I haven't met her yet. Could you describe her for me?"

"She's quiet, I guess,” said Roe softly. “Real stubborn. During training, a lotta the guys made bets on when she'd wash out. To be honest, I didn't think she'd last," he gave a laugh that was more a puff of air than a sound. "She sure showed us."

"Because she stuck it out?"

"Because she's still here," said Roe. "All of her."

Flack had absolutely no idea what that was supposed to mean. It must have shown on his face because Roe heaved a sigh and took his helmet off his head to scrub a hand through his shockingly dark hair, making it stand on end.

He set the helmet aside and leaned forward, locking eyes with Flack and holding them.

"You've heard the saying ‘War is hell’? It's not. It's worse. When you're out here, you face things you've never in your worst nightmares dreamt up.

"Each foxhole you dig runs the risk of unearthing some poor bastard's frozen corpse, buried under the fresh show. Every day, a truckload of new replacements rolls in to replace your friends who've been killed right in front of you, and every day just as many are hauled out dead, if there's even enough left of them to carry.

"After a while, your mind just goes somewhere else. It hides you from all this for your own protection."

"Shellshock," whispered Flack remembering the man gurgling blood in the tent nearby. Roe nodded, eyes haunted, and suddenly Flack realized a horrible truth: that man was somebody's friend out here, somebody's son back home.

The horror of it all struck him afresh. He couldn't imagine living every day with someone and then suddenly seeing them in pieces. And it must happen over and over, day after day.

This was the grisly truth of combat.

"Ev is special. She actually still makes an effort to get know everybody out here, even the replacements; especially them since they need the most help. You haven't met her? That's probably because she's always moving, checking on everybody. She knows everybody by at least their name and rank, even the replacements. Nobody does that. Not anymore," finished Roe.

He leaned back, breaking the intensity and allowing the reporter to look away and make a few scribbles.

"She sounds like a saint," said Flack, thinking, _Here's yet another account of Evelyn Buchanan being too good to be true._

Roe sent him a crooked grin. "Saints can't shoot as well as she can. I would know. I’m Catholic."

It was such a random comment that it startled a burst of laughter from Flack. "So how long have you been friends?" asked he when he'd managed to quell his amusement.

"She got injured in training. Winters sent me to check on her. He was her Platoon leader back then."

Flack's pen, which had been taking notes out of instinct more than any actual command, stilled. It was the first time he'd heard Buchanan portrayed as anything but infallible.

"Hurt how?" he asked, hoping that he wasn't going to be fed yet more PR bullshit. Finally, a real, newsworthy story he could write about.

Roe leaned back to rest more comfortably against the crate behind him and said, "She fractured her shoulder. Couldn't raise her arm more'n to here for a couple of weeks." He lifted his arm to about a 45-degree angle. "I don't know, after that, we were just friends. You'd have to ask her why."

"And this injury happened back at Toccoa?"

Roe nodded.

"How'd it happen?"

Long fingered hands fiddling with a Zippo lighter, Roe thought the question over carefully before answering. "Everybody gets hurt in training. We're doin' things we haven't done before. Sometimes, things just go wrong. Ain't nobody's fault, it just happens."

Flack thought about pushing and maybe Roe could read it on his face because he continued. "And anyways, it was over two years ago. Hardly matters now."

Flack supposed Roe was right and let it go despite it being the only real story about Eve he'd managed to wrangle from anyone all day. But given the way Roe was glaring at him with a tight frown that booked no argument, he dropped the topic, abandoning the "how" for the "why."

"Why'd you help her?"

Roe mulled this question over too. Flack settled in for another long answer.

"I don't rightly know. She needed the help. And Winters asked me to. We could all see that she went down pretty hard, but then she didn't go to the aid station, just got right back up and ran up Mt. Currahee.

"She just seemed like she needed a friend after that, someone to look after her. Make her go to the aid station when she needed to. Next thing I knew, we were friends."

"Makes sense," said Flack. He flipped through his notes, making sure he'd gotten most of that down word for word.

"Mind if I ask you a question?" asked Roe.

Flack looked up from the notebook, surprised. "Sure," he said setting it aside.

"Is there some reason you're doin' this now? Surely there's bigger news somewhere else. Ev's been a soldier for years now. Why the sudden interest?"

"Oh," said Flack. He'd realized that Roe had likely been stuck at the aid station all day, judging by the still heavy chaos around them. It hadn't even occurred to him to tell the medic the reason for the sudden resurgence of interest in Evelyn Buchanan. After all, both Liebgott and Lipton had known about it within only a few moments of his arrival. He supposed there was a limit to the reach gossip had, though it was honestly surprising. "There was a letter campaign to send her home after Bastogne. She turned it down."

There was a beat of silence.

"What?" Roe snarled.

Flack was startled by the hushed warning in the medic's voice. He met Roe's eyes, shocked by his ferocity. He looked deeper than the rage that was on the surface; the man hadn't been angry before, and this anger wasn't directed at him like Liebgott's had been. What was going on?

"Sergeant Buchanan was offered a pass home to go beat the war bond drum. She turned it down."

Roe hissed out a word Flack had never heard before, but he could guess it wasn't friendly. The medic heaved himself off the stack of crates and crushed his cigarette under his boot and started pacing, ranting in a language Flack didn't recognize. He might have picked up on the occasional word in French, but it made no sense strung together the way Roe was doing it, and the accent was off.

This was more than just anger. Could it be fear?

"You okay?" asked Flack as he watched a man who had been thus far unflappable surrender to a rage.

"No, I'm not _okay_!" he said, dragging the word out in frustration as he whirled on Flack, his anger finding a direction. "You tellin' me Ev coulda gone home? Coulda been home safe right now if she wasn't so damned stubborn?"

Flack was honestly shocked. That's what Roe was angry about? "People are calling her as a hero. The woman who won't leave her men behind in battle."

Roe scoffed. "She should'a gone home! Where she'd be safe!"

Flack surreptitiously pulled out his notebook and started taking notes once more. This was the first genuine reaction he'd seen all day, and what a fascinating reaction it was.

"You got any idea what it's like to hope your friends get injured real bad just so they can have a second off the line to breathe? To hope that they lose an arm or get blinded just so the Army won't want them anymore before they get blown completely to hell? Now you're tellin' me that Eve coulda gone home without a scratch?" Roe started spitting in that strange language again, the words falling rapid fire from his lips. He raked his hands back and forth through his hair in frustration.

Flack watched Roe with growing apprehension. This must be the wrath First Sergeant Lipton had mentioned. He hadn't meant to make the man angry.

"I don't think she did it because she's not scared of dying or because she doesn't want to go home," said Flack, trying to reason with the fuming Cajun.

Roe stopped pacing and whirled around to glare at the reporter. His chest inflated as he took deep lungfuls of the frigid air. His face was still pale, but there was a helplessness in his eyes, a vulnerability there that allowed Flack to see right into the medic's battered soul.

Flack finally saw the man who had held countless lives in his hands and had been forced to watch as a lot of them slipped away. There was a deep love here between the medic and Buchanan, but this wasn't the frantic rage of a lover, it was of a broken man trying to hold on to the person who was reportedly his only friend out here.

Flack had no doubt that Roe loved Buchanan, but the death threats that rolled off his tongue – in English this time – reminded Flack so sharply of his sister doing just the same thing when he'd done a particularly stupid stunt to impress the girls that he couldn't picture their relationship as anything else. He wondered if it was the same for all of the men in Easy Company? If it was really possible for a man and a woman to become so close that a relationship involving sex became a step backwards, a detriment to the relationship rather than an improvement.

Lipton’s notion of a symbol was starting to make more sense.

Suddenly, Flack was speaking, though when his mouth decided to mutiny he wasn't quite sure. "After all I've heard about how much she wants to be here, and how much she cares about each and every guy out here, I don't think that Sergeant Buchanan would be able to live with herself if she left without you." He met Roe's eye even though they hid more pain than Flack even wanted to try and comprehend.

"She still shoulda gone home," said Roe.

Flack and Roe stared at each other for a moment at a stalemate before Flack tried again. "Maybe, but it was her choice. I've seen, and interviewed some of the Medal of Honor recipients they plucked from the Pacific to do the war bond song and dance. I gotta tell you, they all look miserable. Most of them tell me that they wouldn't have accepted the Medal if they didn't feel obligated to honor their fallen comrades. Every one of them wanted to get back to their unit on the line.

"From what I've heard, Evelyn Buchanan is that caliber of soldier. I don't think she would've felt differently from those men."

Roe deflated, Flack's reasoning sinking in and his anger abating. The concern was still there, it would probably never really leave the medic, but the man’s shoulders fell and he relaxed a bit more.

Flack smiled a bit, pleased with himself. He glanced down at his notebook, but he knew that he'd remember this conversation without having to write it down.

-

"Hey, so, we ready?" Ralph Spina interrupted, cutting his way through the chaos to their carefully guarded pile of supplies with the ease of long practice.

Roe was grateful for his return. He needed a minute to think.

He’d left Easy Company with strict instructions to Muck, Malarkey, and Penkala to make sure Ev got a few hours of sleep. They'd been told that if someone woke her up before chow, he'd know why and take it from their hides.

The woman was wearing herself thin looking out for everyone else, and now Roe knew why. The potential for a pass home had probably spooked the woman, making her redouble her efforts, trying to reaffirm the need for her out with the men so they wouldn’t insist she leave.

She still hadn't recovered from her illness, despite the penicillin, and it worried Roe. Not enough to pull her off the line – something she wouldn’t allow unless under the most dire of circumstances – but certainly enough to enlist the Toccoa guys in forcing her to take it easy.

Roe was half tempted to go try and make her go anyway.

Why the fuck hadn't she gone home when she’d had the chance? Wasn't she sick enough? Hadn't she had enough of death? Roe certainly had. He couldn't bear the thought that Ev might be the next body under his hands, had waking dreams and nightmares of trying to piece her back together with his bare hands. Each cry for a medic filled him with dread for her safety and each time it wasn't her he felt ashamed because he was so relieved.

He didn't know what he'd do if she died.

But he did know that he was going to kill her when he found her for not telling him sooner so he could’ve convinced her to go.

Of all the idiotic stunts!

There was nothing he could do about it now, and Ev would kill him if he tried. He gave a weary nod, a headache brewing.

Ev had been giving him headaches since Toccoa, so this wasn't new.

“Gene?” prompted Spina.

It was enough to snap him out of it.

Roe gave Spina a nod. He picked up one of the last five crates. This would be the last jeep they had to fill and then they were done.

Roe was actually impressed when Flack tucked away his notepad and picked up a crate of his own, barely straining under the weight as he waited patiently for the medics to lead the way.

Roe didn't say anything, but he shot the reporter an assessing look before looking at Spina and taking in the raised eyebrows. _No_ , he tried to convey with his expression. _I don't know what he's doing either._ Not that he didn't appreciate the help.

"Jeep's this way," said Roe as he led the reporter out of the tent.

 _Maybe,_ thought Roe as he directed Flack in the proper way to tie down the crates, _I’ll tell the guys to stop running the interference game they’re probably running, and let Flack talk to Ev. She deserves the headache for not going home in the first place._

-

It took nearly an hour before Malark made it back to the foxhole he'd been sharing with Penk and Muck – who was still out spreading the word about Ev refusing to go home. It was the biggest news since Patton broke through the line, but no one wanted to talk about Patton. The bastard made a big stink about "rescuing" them, which, hello, they were doing just fine.

"Finally," griped Penk when Malark hopped into the hole next to him. "Where the hell've you been?"

"Around. Hey, you know that reporter Jackson brought?"

Penkala rolled his eyes. "The one you guys took on a merry goose chase? Yeah, I might've seen him."

"Yeah, yeah," said Malark, good-natured in the face of Penkala's bitching. "Get this, turns out he's here 'cause Ev turned down a pass home."

Penk took a moment to study Malark's face. The man looked serious, this combined with the fact that he was far less likely to joke around without Muck there for the sell almost convinced him. It was a rather unbelievable story.

"No way," he said. "Pull the other one. No one's that stupid."

Malarkey slapped his arm. "It's not stupid! It's _moxie_."

"Moxie," said Penkala slowly, tasting how the word felt on his tongue. He shook his head. "Are you kidding? What are you, my mother? No one says _moxie_ anymore."

"One of the replacements dug in with Perconte said it!"

"You're not kidding though, she really did turn down a pass home?" asked Penkala, ignoring the redhead with the ease of long practice. Malarkey nodded seriously and Penk shook his head. "I thought I was an idiot. That's just…" Penk couldn't find the words so switched tracks. "I'd probably give my left nut for a pass home."

"What you don't like your left nut or something?"

It was Penkala's turn to push Malark. It did fuck all to keep the man from laughing. "Shut it, Malark," he growled, unable to keep the intimidating scowl on his face with his buddy cracking up next to him.

They settled down to shivering for a while before Penkala said, "You reckon it's close enough to chow time to wake her?"

"I'll do it," said Malark. "Meet you in the chow line?"

Ev needed to get up and move her feet for a bit anyways. Or they might swell up in a precursor to frost bite and trench foot. They'd had enough guys taken off the line for it that it became habit to keep a vague consciousness while sleeping so you could shake or stomp your feet and get the blood flowing again.

Penk nodded. "You got it."

Malark slung his M1 over his shoulder and made his way to Ev's foxhole.

When he looked inside, he honest-to-God hesitated. Even in her sleep, Ev looked tired. She was quivering like an aspen leaf despite being buried under three blankets. With a sigh, he hopped into the hole with her.

"Ev?" he said, reaching out to shake her awake.

It wasn't necessary, he found, since her eyes popped open at the sound of his voice. "What time is it?" she rasped, wincing.

"Chow time," said Malark. "Come on, let's go."

She took the hand he held out for her, levering herself to her feet and pulling out her canteen. She shook it; the contents were thankfully still liquid.

She took a shallow drink, mindful that they would have to melt snow to get more, and the snowmelt was sometimes black with all the gunpowder and ash it had absorbed on the way down from the clouds.

"You all right?" asked Malark, still staring at her with that worried look on his face that she recognized from the faces of all the other guys.

"Yeah," she said, voice functioning once more. "Let's go."

They slung their guns across their shoulders and made their way to food. At least it would be warm.

"Anything interesting happen while I was out?" asked Ev.

Malark thought it over, and then remembered the last time she'd card sharked him only a few weeks ago and said, "No, just the usual."

He knew his tone was a touch too innocent, and that while Ev must’ve realized, she didn't bother to call him on it.

She'd find out soon enough.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is very much welcome. Special thanks to everyone who left kudos. Updates are every Thursday.


	37. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Robert Flack interviewed Eugene Roe and survived the Cajun's temper.
> 
> "We sleep safely at night because rough men stand ready to visit violence on those who would harm us." – Winston Churchill
> 
> "A great person attracts great people and knows how to hold them together." —Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe"
> 
> Now: Flack finally interviews Sergeant Buchanan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Atman whipped this chapter into shape. They're all just amazing people who come through every week and help me get this out to you. Big thanks to them.

-Chapter 37-

Eve figured out what Malark was probably trying to hide from her pretty quickly after they hit the main camp.

Easy Company was playing host to a TV camera crew.

Lip passed the word around: they had to all smile and act merry for the newsreels. Winters's orders.

So the guys put on a show, smiling and laughing like they were having a grand old time freezing to death in Belgium.

Actually, most of the guys were excited by the prospect of being filmed. The film would play before the picture shows back home.

Eve was not. While she’d been in the spotlight her entire life thanks to her father's political career, and had never seen the appeal of it; she hadn't been morally against it until after the disastrously bad press she'd gotten for joining the Army.

She avoided the camera crew to the best of her ability, ducking around the CP and taking the long way to get in line for chow. She kept her head down and tried to blend in. She was just another soldier. She didn’t want any additional attention just because she was a woman, which would certainly happen if they spotted her.

She slipped into line behind Guarnere, who grinned at her. She scowled in reply, sensing that he was laughing at her, not glad to see her.

Gene would skin her if she skipped a meal, so she meekly accepted the brown soup in her canteen and tried to ignore her rolling stomach. She did appreciate the bread slices though. It wasn't decent bread by any stretch of the imagination, bleached white bread that was popular in grocery stores now rather than a proper loaf. She might actually kill someone for a real piece of bread, hot from a baker's oven, and some genuine gravy to mop up with it.

_At least my appetite’s come back_ , she thought, finding herself a seat next to Liebgott on a log. He and Popeye – who was sitting on Lieb’s other side – smiled and quickly spooned their servings into their mouths. Hot food didn't stay hot for long.

Eve swallowed the bile and made a valiant effort, but after only a few bites mostly pushed the food around and ignored Liebgott's pointed glances.

She guessed she wasn't hungry after all. _Damn_.

Lieb finished leagues ahead of her, but she kept sullenly stirring her food around to keep it liquid at least. He finally took pity on her and stole half of her bread, dipping it in her soup to give it some flavor and demolishing it in two bites.

_Disgusting_ , she thought, glaring at him as he smiled at her, teeth brown from the slop and covered in mauled bread. _Now I really am going to puke_.

She had to look away, and thus missed the glances exchanged between Lieb and Malarkey, who'd come to lean against a tree in front of them.

Eve steeled herself and took the smallest bite of stew she could manage on her overlarge spoon. Thankfully, it didn't have much flavor, more water than anything else, but the vegetables required some chewing, and the texture alone was so much like what she imagined slime to feel like that she had to swallow them whole.

Muck's voice rang out, drawing Eve's attention away from her bowl. "Flack! Welcome back, get what you need?"

The man, whom she'd never seen before, gave Skip a tentative smile, a good approach when dealing with the indelible enthusiasm that was Skip Muck. She hadn't missed new replacements, they didn’t get resupplied with guys when they were on the line. If the guy was a soldier and not a part of that blasted camera crew, he had to be from another platoon.

A slightly closer inspection revealed that he wasn't carrying a weapon. _Civilian then_. She lowered her head deeper into her bowl to avoid attention. Just because she couldn't see the camera, didn't mean there wasn't one.

"I think so," said the foreign voice.

"You sticking around for chow?"

"I suppose so," said Flack, though he obviously wasn’t looking forward to it.

"Good," crowed Skip, grabbing the man by the arm and towing him along. "Line's this way."

Eve looked at Liebgott, who hid a smile in his bowl. She realized that she was missing something, but she knew better than trying and get it from Liebgott. The man could be as tightlipped as a steel trap when he wanted to be, and from the smirk he was failing to hide, he wasn’t planning on sharing any time soon.

With a resigned sigh – she hated being in the dark – she took another stab at finishing her food.

-

Flack watched with interest as an incoming soldier drew Muck's attention. "Joe Toye! Back for more!"

He allowed himself to fade into the background and observe the interaction. Apparently, Toye was a wounded soldier back on the line. Flack wondered if it was stubbornness on behalf of the patient or a lack of beds in the hospital that had the wounded man back on the front. If the reactions he received were any indication, he wasn't expected.

And then Muck started narrating wounds that the various guys had gotten in combat throughout their soldiering careers, showboating for a younger soldier – probably a replacement. Flack eagerly wrote down the particulars of the various injuries, moving along with Muck so that he was never out of earshot from the man as he took copious notes. He could get back in line for food later. This was too good an opportunity to miss on account of food.

He hadn't realized that this particular group of soldiers was involved in Normandy, Market Garden, and the Battle of the Bulge. It was something he should have realized – what with Holland having been mentioned – but it was very easy to get confused with the obscure numbering system the Army utilized to confuse the enemy.

He tuned back in as Muck made his way towards the soldiers who were still eating, sitting clustered together for companionship, though no one was saying much.

"Now, Bull, he got a piece of exploding tank in Holland," Muck continued, pointing downwards to where a large man was sitting on the ground, miserably staring off into space as he chewed on a cigar butt. Flack made note of him. He still wanted to talk to "Bull" about Holland before he left. Lipton's story had intrigued him.

"And George Luz here has never been hit." Muck tapped a finger on George's arm a few times as though marveling at the sheer number of lucky misses the man had had. "You're one lucky bastard, George," he declared.

"Takes one to know one, Skip." George retorted around a mouth full of bread.

"Eh, consider us blessed. Now Liebgott, that skinny little guy?" Muck pointed, starting in on the guys who'd been fast enough to appropriate a log to sit on. Oddly enough though, he started in the middle of the log. Liebgott grinned meanly at Flack, who tried not to flinch back from the savage gaze. "He got pinged in the neck in Holland. And right next to him, that other skinny little guy, that's Popeye. He got shot in his scrawny little butt on Normandy."

"And uh," said Malarkey, weighing in, and trying to distract Skip before he gave up the game. "Buck got shot in his rather large butt in Holland."

-

Eve bit down a laugh before it could turn into a cough. And then choked and coughed anyway as Buck, ever the showman, turned and lifted his coat to expose his ass, prodding one of his wounds.

Liebgott pounded her on the back, which helped not at all, but she managed to get herself under control after a few painful hacks.

"Yeah," said Penkala, catching on. "Kind of an Easy Company tradition: being shot in the ass."

"Hey, even First Sergeant Lipton over there," said Muck, spying Lip. Muck had always had an undeniable urge to tease the First Sergeant whenever possible. Lip always indulged him, even when it strayed into insubordination. Muck was too good-natured to mean anything by it; he was just out looking for a laugh to cheer his buddies up. Lip understood that and encouraged it when he could, the whole dynamic was always fun to watch. "He got a couple pieces of a tank shell burst in Carentan. One chunk in the face, another chunk nearly took out his nuts."

"How are those nuts, Sergeant?" Bill asked coyly.

Eve snorted and had to fight her body to keep the coughing light instead of the deep hacking coughs that she'd become used to.

"Doing fine, Bill," said Lip, stirring his food nonchalantly. "Nice of you to ask."

Eve couldn't help but smile. Suddenly the food in her bowl seemed a little more appetizing. She took a couple bites before the feeling deserted her again. With a sigh, she forced herself to finish it off. When she'd swallowed the last bite, now stone cold, she got up to go wash it out.

-

"Who's that?" asked the replacement. Flack had all but forgotten about the kid while he quickly recorded everything he could about Easy Company. Flack looked up, spying immediately why they were talking about.

"That's Ev. She took a piece of a building to her arm in Carentan," said Muck, not noticing the way Flack's head shot up from his notes to stare at the woman who'd been right under his nose this whole time.

But Liebgott and Popeye did, and they cracked up.

Flack scowled. Suddenly, their laughter as Muck illustrated their injuries made sense. Those rat bastards had her there the whole time and hadn't said a word! He took a deep breath and calmed down from his indignation only to have bewilderment replace it. How the hell had she blended in so well? She was a woman for Christ’s sake, and he’d missed her completely!

And suddenly the answer struck him, in a way that the men he’d talked to had tried to explain, but he hadn’t really understood properly.

Buchanan was one of them, indistinguishable from any of the other soldiers, blending in with the rest of them seamlessly.

"She?" the replacement asked quietly.

"Yeah, she," said Malarkey, suddenly dead serious, the levity of the moment vanishing. "If you know what's good for you, you won't have a problem with that," he said quietly.

"Yes, sir," said Webb, meekly.

Flack took note of the quiet threat and the meek acceptance. Was that all it took? A couple words from the veterans and the new guys were fine with the woman in their Company? He might not have believed it if he hadn't seen it firsthand.

What an amazing bond combat created. The necessity to rely on each other was so strong that it broke social norms. Amazing. He wondered if anyone had studied it before and then decided that this was a special case anyway, so it might not matter if they had. Whatever you call it, Buchanan was irrevocably one of the soldiers out here, and nothing, not even her gender, blocked that.

He was also a little stunned that it had taken this long for the replacement to encounter her, but he supposed it could be explained by different platoons and such. This group was a good amalgamation of platoons, if Flacks few hours with the company was any indication. He’d met most of the people from Second Platoon already – or so he thought – and he couldn’t remember a couple of these gentlemen being among those he’d been introduced to.

Or maybe the replacement just hadn’t noticed that she was the woman? Maybe they weren’t making special exceptions for having a woman in the field?

Was that even possible?

-

Eve didn't even look up from her scrubbing to acknowledge the exchange behind her, too busy trying to get the food out of her bowl before it froze in there and she'd never get it out. She’d deal with the replacement if he became a problem, just like she had all the others.

"Hey, Ev, how's it going?" said a very familiar voice.

She whirled, grinning. "Joe Toye," she said, thrilled to see him. "Back from the hospital already? What? Not enough pretty nurses to keep you?"

"None as pretty as you," he flirted.

She snorted indelicately and punched him in the arm.

"Hey!" he barked, dodging. "Walking wounded here."

"That'll teach you to flirt with strange women."

"You are a very strange woman," he agreed.

She slung an arm over his shoulder to give him a hug. "I'm glad you're back," she said. "You won't believe these replacements. Some of them are fresh out of high school. Did you hear what they were told in boot camp? 'You're not going to survive anyway so get used to the idea.' Of all the idiotic things to tell a guy going into combat," she groused, reminded of the issues by Webb’s scolding.

"Geeze,” he said, agreeing. “Good thing you're here to straighten 'em out."

"I'm counting on your help too, Joe Toye, so no more of this getting wounded business, all right?"

"You got it, Ev," he said. "You eaten?"

"Just finished," she said, showing him the half-scrubbed bowl.

"All right," he said. "See you later?"

"I'll be here," she said and resumed scrubbing as he ambled away to get back in the chow line.

-

Flack approached the soldier scrubbing out their canteen with trepidation, hoping he wasn't mistaken and that this was in fact, finally, Sergeant Buchanan.

He was suddenly, irrationally nervous. After hearing so much about her, he had built her up as this larger than life figure. It was nearly as nerve-wracking as meeting Colonel Sink for the first time.

"Excuse me?" he asked before he could talk himself out of it.

The soldier turned around and Flack was struck speechless for an entirely different reason. He had no idea how he'd managed to miss her before. It was beyond obvious that this soldier was not only a woman, but an incredibly beautiful one. A film of dirt covered her pale skin and made her pale blue eyes almost luminescent. Her short, tousled dark hair highlighted her cheekbones and delicate features. Somehow, he doubted she would ever be as beautiful as she was right now, in filthy ODs with a politely puzzled look.

_She does not belong in combat_ , he thought fiercely, the stray notion snagged before he could start composing lyrical prose to her beauty in his head.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Jesus, even her voice was low and husky, like liquid honey soothing his frayed nerves. He suddenly understood the rumors about her. She was way too pretty to be a soldier. She looked like a wife some husband should tuck away in his mansion to keep her safe.

He coughed, realizing that he'd been staring. "I'm looking for Sergeant Buchanan," he said trying to keep his eyes from searching for a hint of her small bosom and slight hourglass figure under the shapeless ODs.

She gave him a smile that stole his breath away. "You found her. What can I do for you?"

He finally remembered himself and started scrambling for his notebook. "Um," said he, still flustered but the return of his self-control seemed imminent. "I'm Robert Flack," he said thrusting out a hand for her to shake only realizing when she grasped it that his pen was threaded through his fingers. "Correspondent for the _New York Times_. Pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am."

"Likewise," said she, smile a touch deeper as though charmed – or perhaps amused – by his awkward manner.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Of course," she said. "Do you mind if I finish this?" She indicated her half-washed canteen. "It'll freeze this way if I don't."

"Not at all," said Flack moving so he was standing next to her.

She let the silence linger for a while before asking, “Is there anything in particular you want to know?"

Flack studied her face. There was a polite smile lingering on her lips, but no warmth in her eyes. It was a practiced expression. The woman had probably dealt with reporters before. Despite having little practice while she was in the army, she’d remembered the lessons she must’ve been taught early for them to stick so well. There was a cardinal rule for being interviewed: if the reporter was hunting for a story, it was generally best to make sure they liked you. It seemed like Miss Buchanan was old hat with reporter’s tricks.

He consulted his notes before making a point to look her in the eyes. "How did you get in the Army?"

Her smile was soft. "My father, Senator Buchanan from New York, got me in."

"How'd you convince him?" he asked, approaching the question in the way she'd presented it to him. Like her father hadn't heaved around some very serious political weight to get her into a combat unit. It was as though she'd merely convinced her father to do a favor for his little girl, not defy centuries of social convention.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "I can be very convincing. And I guess he knew that if he didn't get me in the Army, I'd have come over by myself and joined the fight without the proper training." She gave a self-depreciating laugh that might’ve been false. "I can be pretty stubborn that way."

Flack found himself laughing with her anyway.

"He figured if I was going to go to war, he wanted me with the best men possible." She shrugged. "The rest is history."

"So you became a soldier just like that?"

Buchanan laughed again but this time it turned into a ragged cough. He waited for her to finish, growing more concerned with every heaving gag and hoarse chocking sound that clawed from her throat. She waved away the hand that he reached out, desperate to help her in some way, but not knowing how. He didn't know what he'd intended to do, but she looked so helpless gagging away that it was impossible for him not to reach out to try and help.

"Sorry," she croaked when she’d finally stopped.

_Well that explains her voice_ , Flack thought and then immediately wondered what she'd sounded like before her illness.

"How long have you been sick?" he asked.

She gave him a sad smile, tears spiking her eyelashes and a hand on her chest as though she could control her heaving lungs with it. "Long enough. It's the middle of winter. Everyone's sick. It's not a big deal."

Flack understood that this was her asking him not to write about it. He gave her a nod. _An illness that every soldier has is hardly news anyway_ , he thought to absolve himself of the lie.

"What was the question again?" she asked, clearing her throat.

Flack took a moment to remember as she spit out the gunk that she'd coughed up. "I asked, if you became a soldier once your father got you into the Army?"

"Oh, right," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "No, I wasn't. Like every volunteer for the Airborne, I had to pass basic training and earn my jump wings before I was considered a paratrooper."

There was iron in her tone, a strength he hadn't expected based on her appearance. He could see it: she'd earned those jump wings through blood, sweat, tears, and stubbornness.

Buchanan finished her washing by shaking the lingering water loose and sliding the mug to fit at the base of her canteen and latching it snug. She slid the whole thing into a canvas carrying pouch at the small of her back and latched the fabric closed before she answered. "I trained with some of these guys for over two years before seeing combat."

She turned around, leaning against the wash station and wedged her fingers deep into her armpits like Lip had.

That lined up with everything Flack had heard so far. It was always good to have the same information from multiple sources. "I've heard that you also had to undergo a probation period in addition to basic training."

"That was a triviality, designed to prove that I was as physically capable as the rest of the men in my unit before I joined them." She gave him another smile worthy of its own PR campaign. "It culminated in a fitness test observed by Colonel Sink and General Taylor."

"I see. So this fitness test, what did it entail?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much, basic drills and the like. Timed obstacle courses, a run up Mt. Currahee, orienteering on a compass course, there were probably a few things I’m forgetting, but it’s been a while."

"I'm sorry, what's that last one?"

"Orienteering? It's where you have to find several points on a map and try to get to your destination under a time limit," she explained and then shivered. "Do you mind if we go on a walk? Standing still out here's not a good idea."

"Of course," said Flack, only now realizing that his feet were numb again with a tiny pins and needles feeling that let him know they were extremely cold.

"So, Muck?" he asked, looking to see her nod that he'd got the name right. "Back at dinner, he said you were wounded in Carentan? Where was that?" he asked as they got under way.

Buchanan didn't seem to have a particular destination in mind, but regardless navigated them away from the foxholes where the rest of Easy was settling down for the night.

"Carentan's in Normandy," she said. "It was one of our primary objectives when we regrouped after the drop on D-Day. It was the town needed to link Omaha and Utah beach. Overall, we seized the town with minimal difficulty," she said.

Flack jotted down some quick notes, trying to write out what she was saying and avoid falling on his face at the same time. He’d already learned that the fresh snow was treacherous because it evenly covered all the inconsistencies in the ground underneath. It made his writing an unholy mess he'd have to decipher later.

"I was leading a squad searching the residential buildings, and an 88 round hit the building next to me," Buchanan continued, shooting him a wry glance. "Truthfully, I went ass over teakettle, but if you could find a way to rephrase that, my mother would thank you."

He smiled and made a note.

"When I reoriented myself, I noticed that I'd got a bit of the shrapnel in my arm from the building. About the size of a golf ball." She pulled one pale hand free to show him the rough circumference.

"Did you get pulled from the line?" he asked, horrified.

She huffed a laugh. “I did have to go to the aid station. Doc Roe gave me a few stitches and sent me back to the line. It was nothing serious.”

"I see,” said Flack making a note of it anyway before finally turning the interview to the story that had been nagging at him since Lip mentioned it hours ago. “Can you tell me about what happened in Holland?"

She stumbled with a quiet curse, before regaining her footing and trudging along.

Flack waited for her to right herself, patiently waiting for her to organize her thoughts.

"How'd you hear about that?" she asked, meeting his eyes.

"First Sergeant Lipton mentioned it.”

"Oh, well if he told you, then I'm sure it's all right for me to tell you too." She paused, heaving in a rattling breath of icy air. "That whole town was an ambush and we walked right into it."

"I'm sorry, which town was this?"

"Neunen," she answered, and then smiled and said in an insinuating lilt, "Vincent Van Gogh was born in Neunen." Only Flack didn't get the joke. She scanned his face for a second, her own falling after a second. Flack felt like he’d missed out on a joke of some kind when Buchanan plastered on a smile Flack was slowly realizing was fake.

She started walking once more, her gaze going distant. “Honestly, that was me being an idiot,” she admitted with a self-depreciating smile. “Sergeant Randleman's cover had been blown to hell by an approaching Panzer and the next thing I know, I'm out in the middle of the road with him, running under MG fire."

Flack watched her, noticing the way her eyes flinched minutely as though she was vividly remembering the shattering of bullets as they hit dirt and buildings only a hair shy of her body.

She heaved a trembling breath and let it go, blinking away the memory. "To avoid the machine gun, we ended up in the roadside ditch. One of the Sherman tanks, and these were British tanks," she said, seeming to think it was important enough for Flack to note, so he did. "The tank had already taken a hit. It was engulfed with fire as it came right for us. It didn’t seem to matter whenever we tried to get out of the way, I swear to God the tank was tracking us down. A few seconds later, the thing exploded into chunks of scrap.

"Sergeant Randleman caught a chunk of it in his back. My helmet protected me from most of the damage, but the piece that hit me knocked me out cold. After that, there's not much that I can tell you. Sergeant Randleman towed me to safety. We hid in a storm drain under the main street until nightfall when we moved into a barn. We stayed there overnight. A patrol from some other company – I forget which – of the 506 found us the next morning.

"They went looking for you?"

"The 506 has never lost a man. People are killed, but you keep track so you know who they are and where it happened so you can tell the families. We've never had anyone go missing. Apparently, the entire division volunteered to go out looking for us."

Flack looked at her. "They didn't do it because you're a woman?"

Buchanan shrugged. "They might've," she admitted. "But I'd like to think they'd've done it for anyone who went missing.”

She turned thoughtful again, her voice down to a vague rasp now, after speaking for so long. "I was really lucky Bull was with me. I would've been dead or worse if he'd left me behind in that ditch. He saved my life."

“That's quite a story," said Flack. "Is there more to it that you can tell me?"

Buchanan furrowed her brow in thought. "I don’t remember much about it, sorry. You'll have to talk to Bull – Sergeant Randleman – for more."

"I'll do that," said Flack, more resolved than ever to find a spare moment to talk to the man before Colonel Sink took him back to Mourmelon and Paris.

She nodded. “Do you have any other questions? I think my voice is about to give out.”

Her voice was already barely a whisper.

Flack chose to ask the question everyone wanted him to. "Why'd you do it? Why didn't you want to go home?"

Eve coughed and her voice disappeared. "While I'm very grateful for the opportunity to go home, there was no way I could accept it. It's hard for anyone not out here to imagine, but we need every spare man on the line that we can get; so I'll stay as long as they'll have me.

"A better question is why they offered me the chance to go home when each and every one of these guys out here is as deserving of a pass as I am. There are thousands of stories out here to pick from for you to write your article about, Mr. Flack, and yet you picked me.”

_Well_ , thought Flack, remembering his reluctance to write the column at all. _I didn’t get to pick._

“Could I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure," agreed Flack, amiable despite feeling like he’d just been scolded, congenially, but told off nonetheless.

"When you write your article, don't write it all about me? Write it about all those guys who aren't getting to come home any more. There are thousands to pick from. Thousands. I'm just one soldier out on the line, with only God and luck between me and a bullet. I don't know why I'm still here," she admitted, "but I'll stay here as long as I can. I won't be pulled off the line for anything in the world if I have any say in it. You'll have to drag me kicking and screaming if you want me to leave." Her voice was a mere whispering rasp but the statement hung in the air, screaming its truth out to the universe for all to hear and take note.

Flack's hand was starting to hurt. He wanted to record everything she was saying as his nib of graphite flew across the page, trying to get as much word for word as he remembered.

When he finished taking everything he remembered down, his hand was fully cramped. He flexed the appendage, the numbing cold not helping his circulation in the slightest.

He looked up finally to find her watching him, a small but perhaps genuine smile on her face as she realized that he'd taken her words to heart. He tucked away the small booklet with care not to smudge the pages. He couldn't even recall flipping the pages, but he must have because there were several filled.

His supplies carefully stowed away, he held out a hand for the remarkable woman to shake. "Thank you, Sergeant. It was a pleasure and an honor talking to you."

"The pleasure's mine," she insisted softly, shaking his hand in a firm grip that solidified his impression of her. This was no meek wife to be tucked away, but a warrior woman able to go out and seize what she wanted, society be damned, and that was impressive all on its own.

"You wouldn't happen to know where I can find Sergeant Randleman?"

Eve smiled at him. "Still on that story, huh?"

He nodded with a sheepish shrug.

"I think First Platoon's foxholes are that way," said she pointing to the left a ways. "He's a nice guy," she reassured him.

"Thanks. I appreciate it." Flack was about to leave when he realized there was something he wanted to do.

He pulled his notepad back out and turned to a new page. Flack had a gut feeling that Buchanan wasn’t going to be able to stay out of the spotlight for long, particularly once the war died down and her real accomplishments came to light. Flack predicted that she would surpass her father's considerable political accomplishments if she put even the slightest of effort to it. Despite his still cramped hand, he scribbled out his name and address on the precious clean sheet and tore out the page, handing it to the woman. "If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Buchanan took the page with a guarded smile and after staring at the information for a minute, folded the paper into squares and tucked it into one of her pockets. "I will,” she assured him with a smile.

He hoped she would. In the meantime, he gave the remarkable woman a nod and left her alone.

_That was one hell of an interview_ , Flack thought.

-

Flack found Sergeant Randleman easily with Buchanan's directions, to his considerable relief.

Randleman seemed indifferent towards Flack, which was a marked difference from everyone else.

“What can I do for you?” the man asked around the butt of a cigar.

Flack appreciated this straight forward attitude. "I was wondering if you could tell me about what happened in Holland? When you and Sergeant Buchanan were stranded in enemy territory?"

Bull's deep voice and Arkansas twang painted a vivid picture of the scene, the too easy approach to the town and the mad scramble away from the burning tank.

"What happened in the barn?" asked Flack.

"Sergeant Buchanan saved us. We were stranded with two civilians, an old man and his daughter, around Buchanan's age I'd guess. Anyways, she used the old man's liquor to sterilize my wound. Dug the shrapnel out of my shoulder and bandaged it. Wasn't too long after that that the Krauts decided to do a sweep of the barn on their way out of town.

"One of 'em stayed behind to take a leak. The civilians made a bit of racket and spooked him, but by God or luck, a bunch of C-47s started flying overhead to bomb some other town. I ended up fighting with this German fellow. Next thing I know, he goes down, Buchanan's bayonet in his back.”

“Jesus,” said Flack, stunned. Buchanan hadn’t mentioned anything like that, implying the opposite. After interviewing the both of them, he was more inclined to believe Randleman’s view of events. Buchanan had even said that she wanted to downplay her own involvement.

Randleman nodded solemnly. "She's a hero. You wanna tell people something about her, tell 'em that."

"I will," promised Flack. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he said. "I'd better go make sure Colonel Sink hasn't left without me. It was nice meeting you."

And then the reporter left, just as easily as he'd come in.

-

The reporter walked into the CP just as the sun was touching the horizon.

“Ready to go, son?” Colonel Sink asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Flack with a distracted nod.

Sink took a moment to make sure he had all the papers he needed, and said goodbye to Bob Strayer and Dick Winters, a temporary plan of attack on the town of Foy in place.

The reporter waited patiently on the outskirts, looking lost in thought.

"Did you get what you needed?" Sink asked as they climbed into the waiting jeep to wait for the loitering camera crew.

"I think so," said Flack, settling into the back. "I do have one more question for you, sir, if you don't mind?"

"Not at all," assured Sink, interested.

"Why'd you let her stay?" Flack asked.

Sink paused and actually gave the question some thought, though the answer had come immediately to his mind. After a long moment, where he couldn't decide a better way to say it than to just come out with it, he said, "Because she deserved to stay it. She’d passed the test and earned her spot. I haven’t regretted letting her stay since. She’s earned her place with those boys over and over again, and she earned it again by telling those jumped up housewives to stuff it."

Flack laughed. "I guess she did."

"Now let me ask you a question, son," said Sink.

"Shoot."

"Did you learn anything?"

Flack took a moment to remember everything he'd learned and absorbed today. There had been several different and interesting characters. He’d had some harrowing experiences between Liebgott and Jackson, and then there was the fierce loyalty shown by Roe and even Malarkey and Muck. The almost devotion that Randleman, and the quiet competence of Buchanan had all effectively changed his perspective.

Flack gave Sink a nod that rocked his whole body. "I did, sir. I learned a lot."

"Did it change your opinion of Sergeant Buchanan?"

Flack met Sink's eyes. "Yes, it did."

"Good. I trust you found something worth writing about?"

“I think I did, sir,” said Flack.

There was this feeling in his gut, the feeling that he was on the cusp of writing a piece that would define his career. There was undoubtedly a story here, one of true and selfless heroism in the face of almost insurmountable odds. Now all he had to do was write the damn thing.

The two camera men finally arrived and the jeep took off. Flack spent the ride back to civilization in a comfortable silence, reading over his notes and starting to compose the opening prose for his article in his head.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I hope you all liked this change. I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> The response to these last few chapters has just been overwhelming. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who took the time to leave kudos. You guys made my day every time.
> 
> Updates are still every Thursday, so I'll see you all on New Years Eve. Happy Holidays to each and every one of you.


	38. Crippled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: The reporter finally took his leave of Easy Company and Joe Toye made his way back to the company.
> 
> "Artillery is the god of war." – Joseph Stalin
> 
> "Your heaviest artillery will be your will to live. Keep that big gun going." – Norman Cousins
> 
> Now: Easy Company retakes the position over Foy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Aniset are amazing, awesome people who helped me get this out to you all.
> 
> Warning: This is a rough one. Maybe read this one tomorrow, I won't judge.

-Chapter 38-

It was early evening the day after the reporter and camera crew had blown through and Toye had come back from the aid station. Things had settled back into normalcy for Easy Company – despite the influx of gossip to keep the boys entertained – when they got the order to retake their old position overlooking Foy.

The sky was a pale purple-gray as they moved out, which many agreed felt ominous. Eve was just happy they were finally getting on with it. They’d been circling Foy like wolves for weeks now.

Winters was leaving behind Dog Company plus a small three-man machine-gunner squad to hold the main line of resistance. Eve was selected to remain behind to make sure they were settled before rejoining Easy Company on the front lines.

“Been nice knowing you,” Toye said, patting her on the back in mock conciliation. She swatted at him and hopped into the foxhole already inhabited by Christenson, Perconte, and the replacement Webb. _It’s good to have Toye back and in good spirits_ , she thought, even though he was showing said spirit by teasing her.

"Wouldn't drink too much, if I were you," advised one of the passing Easy Company men, Eve didn't see who. She was busy making sure they had enough boxes of ammo for Christenson's machine gun.

"Hey! Be careful if he offers you a cigarette," said Malarkey, holding up his gun to mime shooting them. Perconte and Christenson laughed good-naturedly in reply.

Eve ignored them and started dragging some branches that had been knocked down by the artillery fire back over to cover their foxhole. Dike had told them not to bother with reinforcing the small shelter since they would soon rejoin Easy Company, but Eve hoped that the men were smart enough to take it as a friendly suggestion rather than an actual order. Cover was just a good idea.

"What are they talking about?" she heard Webb ask. "If who offers us a cigarette?"

"Speirs," said Christenson, checking the breech of the machine gun. "Lieutenant Speirs."

Eve snorted – remembering the story and the rumors it had sparked all too well – and smacked Perconte on the arm to prompt the radio man up into helping her haul one of the bigger branches back into place. He scowled, but did indeed help her.

Ronald Speirs was still a legend – his mythos had yet to fade from anyone’s mind, morphing and evolving the man into a larger than life figure. Stories of his exploits on D-Day still featured heavily in Easy Company gossip. They were often used as fodder to impress (and scare the crap out of) the new guys, despite said events happening in Normandy, six months ago, with no further rumors cropping up since.

Personally, Eve didn't see what all the fuss was about. Speirs was just like any other soldier. Sure he was a little crazy – she vividly remembered the suicidal stunt he’d pulled at Brecourt, hopping out of the trench into enemy fire like he had a death wish – but it was no more risky than Bill's wild attack on the horse drawn carriage that same day, or volunteering to jump out of a perfectly functional airplane.

There were other rumors about the lieutenant shooting his own man when the soldier turned up drunk on duty, but after dealing with two drunkards from Dog Company on her own, she understood the impulse. And there’d been no incidents (and no reprimands) since which led her to believe that there had been extreme circumstances she just wasn’t aware of for Speirs to go so far as to shoot a man.

Plus, Speirs had apparently taken his company in hand with regards to her. Despite the relative close quarters with Dog Company during their stay in the Ardennes, Eve hadn’t had any further problems with said drunkards since Mourmelon – much to her relief.

All in all, Speirs was all right in her book.

"He shot twenty POWs?" Webb asked with notes of both awe and horror in his tone as was typical in everyone hearing the story the first time.

"Well actually, I heard it was more like thirty," said Perconte adding fuel to the fire around the toothbrush he’d stuck in his mouth. The man was constantly, obsessively brushing his teeth despite having long since run out of toothpaste.

Eve understood that to someone who’d never been there, never been in the position of making an impossible decision when the chips were down and the cards were on the table, killing people in cold blood was hard to understand. The truth of the matter was, the lives of twenty or even thirty POWs – _a number that increases with each retelling_ , Eve noted – was a mere drop in the bucket of blood that had been spilt in this war, let alone on D-Day. Eve herself had at least that many kills on her conscious from that day alone, so she wasn’t inclined to starting pointing fingers of guilt and blame at anyone for doing what had to be done.

Besides, no one could – or would – definitively say that Speirs had done it.

"Christenson!" Speirs barked, appearing like a specter from the mist, summoned by his legend; and conveniently just in time to catch the tail end of Christenson's rendition of the German POW rumor.

"Lieutenant Speirs," said Christenson, meekly.

From the corner of her eye, Eve could see Christenson swallow convulsively and bit her cheek to keep from giggling at the stunned look on his face.

Speirs was stoic as he squatted down at the edge of the foxhole. At a crouch, he was a couple of heads taller than Christenson, even though the other man was standing flat footed in the foxhole, and he used that temporary height difference to his advantage.

Eve watched – wondering what the lieutenant had in store for the men who were foolish enough to be caught gossiping about the fearsome man within his hearing.

"I got the name right, Christenson?" Speirs asked as though he didn't know.

Eve knew full well that Speirs knew most of the original Easy guys from Toccoa by voice and name. It was true of all Toccoa veterans, that they knew each other on sight after two years of hardship together.

"Yes, sir," Christenson said quietly.

"What are you men doing out here?" Speirs asked, still poker faced.

"We're watching the line, sir," Christenson answered, meek under the severity Speirs radiated.

Eve turned at the sound of raised voices – English ones, thank God.

"Then keep up the good work," Speirs said blandly, apparently deciding that was enough for now.

The men next to her looked well and truly spooked, to Eve’s amusement.

She bit her lip – harder this time – to stifle the laughter bubbling in her stomach. It was obvious to her that Speirs knew perfectly well what he was doing, and was purposefully teasing the men by being as awkward as possible.

"While you're at it, you might want to reinforce your cover."

"See," said Eve, nudging Perconte, because really, she’d told him so. He swatted back at her absently.

"Oh, actually, sir, Lieutenant Dike said not even to bother. We're only going to be here one day," said Perconte around his toothbrush, apparently still inclined to ignore her. Eve rolled her eyes and meanly wondered if Perconte’s toothbrush was substituting for a pacifier for the man. It made her feel better, but the thought was definitely unfair.

"It was more of a suggestion," she muttered in defiance of the stupid order and the stupidity of those who’d decided to follow it, but Speirs drowned her out.

"Lieutenant Dike said that, huh?" Speirs said, staring into Perconte's eyes for a long moment before saying, flippantly: "Then forget what I said." The man gave a negligent shrug. "Carry on."

And with that, Speirs got up and walked away.

Eve looked at her still baffled boys and grabbed her helmet and rifle, intent on following him. She owed Dog Company’s CO a report on what and who Dike had left behind before she could rejoin Easy. And it wasn’t like the boys were following her lead with the cover anyways.

She’d barely moved towards him, when Speirs turned back – only a few steps away himself – and said, with all the precision and timing of an actor, "Oh, anyone care for a smoke?"

He held out a pack enticingly.

He may as well have been holding a live grenade from the way the boys still in the foxhole shrank back from him.

Perconte meekly continued brushing his teeth. Christenson just stared dumbfounded. Webb was too frightened to look away.

"You?" the Lieutenant asked, specifically looking at the replacement.

The poor kid shook his head frantically, rattling the helmet on his head, probably wetting himself with fear.

Speirs gave a ‘ _suit yoursel_ f’ shrug, winked at Eve – who had to bite her lip again to keep from spoiling the joke, and turned to continue walking away.

Eve followed, catching up in a few strides after a quick wave at the boys staying behind.

She smiled. The man had slowed down – presumably to light his cigarette, or perhaps he'd been waiting for her. "Sir?" she greeted just as he put the cigarette in his mouth. "May I accompany you to your CP?"

He shrugged, mindful that they were still within eyesight of the bewildered men in the foxhole and replied flippantly, "Sure."

Composed, the pair walked away, not too quickly, but definitely with purpose.

Eve barely lasted until they were out of earshot before she started laughing. It quickly turned to coughing and she was only mildly surprised as a warm hand started rubbing circles on her back to help sooth her fit.

"You, sir," she said as she caught her breath. Speirs's met her gaze looking worried, "Are a bad man." And then she started laughing again. It didn't take as long this time to either start or stop the subsequent coughing and she spit out the green crud that climbed up her throat into the snow with vengeful spite.

She gave him a grin, letting him know that she was all right.

He smiled back and offered her his pack of cigarettes.

He looked surprised when she took one, but shrugged casually, taking a drag on his own burning cigarette and smiled ruefully when she tucked her prize away.

She needed to start replenishing her stockpile now that they had supplies. This was as good a start as any.

"Rather ingeniously done, sir," she noted as they headed once more towards Dog Company's CP.

"What’s that, Sergeant?" he asked, watching her peripherally.

"Now, you never have to share your cigarettes."

They shared a grin and kept walking.

-

When Eve finally wandered back into Easy's position, she stared in horror.

It was like walking into a nightmare.

All winter the Germans had been shortening their artillery’s fuses to make the shells detonate early, turning the treetops that should’ve sheltered Easy Company into a deathtrap made up of lethal arm-long pikes ready to skewer the soldiers hiding below. And from the canopy of amputated treetops, the Krauts had been taking full advantage of the terrifying tactic to maximize the damage of their artillery bursts.

Eve had a bad feeling as she walked deeper into camp, taking in damage that got worse with each step she took. This position hadn’t been nearly so battered when they’d left it to First Battalion a few days ago. The Germans had clearly hammered at First long and hard until the poor bastards retreated. This was the best position over Foy, with both a high ground advantage and good sightlines. They couldn’t leave it undefended, and Eve had no doubt that the Krauts had their guns honed in on this spot; right where Easy Company was sitting.

They were going to be hit with artillery fire; it was only a question of when. There was nothing for it. They had to hold the position.

Eve immediately prioritized getting her guys to work affixing cover to their foxholes. If they had a solid barrier between them and the lethal spikes, they stood a far better chance of surviving. At least there was plenty to choose from what was already knocked to the ground.

Somehow in her distraction, she’d made it to the tree line overlooking their objective.

Movement caught her eye. Just across the field, beyond the last line of trees, Eve could make out German troops, dressed in winter clothing, scurrying around in the town below.

Her hand twitched habitually towards her gun, but she wasn’t foolish enough to try and pick a few off, despite a relative certainty that she could hit them even from this distance. Such a rash action would only alert the Germans that they’d reoccupied the position, and the bombardment would start all the sooner.

She turned her attention away from the soldiers themselves, and started scanning what she could see of the town for heavy weapons, but they were too well concealed. She knew without a shadow of a doubt they were there, merely biding their time.

German chatter lifted to her ears on a shifting breeze, causing her to shiver and realize that there was no time to waste.

Eve made her way back to camp, noticing how many of the boys were already hard at work hacking away at the lower limbs of the blasted trees with hatchets. Eve passed her own small, mostly ignored, hatchet on to some poor kid trying to use his entrenching tool as an ax. While he went to town, she got to work collecting the limbs that had already been felled and dragging them off to give to the guys – who were using their multi-purpose entrenching tools as hammers to drive stakes into the ground, which worked far better than trying to chop down trees with the small shovels – so they could whack the branches into place.

She spent the rest of the evening moving around the rest of Second Platoon, passing out branches and helping to wedge down logs into position.

"Hey, if it isn't Sergeant Buchanan," said Toye when he came by on his own rounds. "Need a hand?" he said and then proceeded to help her haul the log she was manhandling into place without waiting for an answer. Eve grinned and let him help her.

"Did you hear that some First Battalion son-of-a-bitch took a dump in my foxhole? Got shit all over my new boots for Christsake," he griped once the log was in place.

Eve laughed so hard she doubled over. She could just imagine the long string of cursing he would’ve let loose when he realized what had happened.

He glowered at her for a while to keep up the pretense but gave into the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth after only a couple seconds of watching her laugh hysterically.

At least until she started coughing, again.

"You doin' all right Ev?" he asked.

"Still here," she said around chattering teeth.

"Yeah, I heard about that pass home,” he grumbled.

"You and everybody else since that goddamn reporter came out here," she said before he could start lecturing her on why she should've gone home. She'd already been chewed out by Roe, Lieb, and half of Second Platoon and she didn't want to have to deal with Toye too.

"I'm just sayin'," he said anyway, ignoring her so he could say his piece. "If you took the pass home, you could be warm and getting better by now."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Roe even got me penicillin."

"Where'd he get that?"

"Who knows, Patton maybe?" said Eve with a shrug as she hacked her way through the last bit of the log.

"Maybe," agreed Toye. "Why don't you take this over to Malark and Ole Gonorrhea. They could use the extra branches."

"Sure," she said. "See you later, Toye. Thanks again for the help." Eve grabbed the ends of two pieces and proceeded to tow them over to where she'd last seen the two men digging out a new foxhole.

"Hey, fellas," she said when she reached the two Sergeants. "Toye said you needed some cover for your hole?"

"Thanks," said Malark, getting out to help her maneuver the things into place.

A high-pitched whistling whine distracted her. Eve's head turned to get a clearer gauge on the sound, praying it was in her imagination, that it was only the tinny ringing sound that sometimes whined in her ears for only her to hear.

It wasn't.

There was a lasting, lingering hope that she was wrong.

"TAKE COVER! INCOMING!" screamed Lip, just barely discernible over the sudden thunderous sound of shells blasting apart the earth.

The shells shook the ground out from under their feet, making it nearly impossible to walk. The flashes of light, the smoke and sharp stench of gunpowder, the screams of the men helpless in their holes, disoriented her.

After a lot of experience being slammed over and over by 88 fire, both in Holland and Normandy as well as their previous month in Belgium, Eve had learned how to gage where the wailing rounds were going to hit. There wasn't much anyone could do under such fire other than listen and watch where the rounds rained death on their friends.

"They got us zeroed!" Eve screamed to Malarkey recognizing that particular piercing sound as one that meant death; the shells she was hearing were bound to land right on top of them.

Despite her being right next to him at the start, somehow Eve had lost track of Malark. He'd vanished from her side, abandoning her and the wood in a confused scramble for self-preservation. She didn't know whether or not Malark had even heard her yelling at him as she suddenly found herself fighting to remain standing. The world shook out from under her feet, making it impossible to move.

Another, particularly close, blast sent her to the ground with a choked off scream. She tried to orient herself, find Malark, and grab him if he'd fallen as well. She couldn’t find him.

She had to find him.

Each time she tried to push herself back to her feet to look for him, the world jerked itself out from under her, slamming her back onto her stomach with another involuntary scream.

A hand grabbed her jacket by the shoulder patch, nearly ripping it off as Bill hauled her across the ground into the hole she’d been covering before what felt like an eternity of bombardment. The distance he helped her cover in a few quick strides had seemed impossibly far when she kept getting knocked to the ground for all that it was only a few feet in front of her.

Her friend pulled her close and held on, the two of them an island in the storm of chaos. She screamed into his chest in terror as a whizzing shell zipped by them, shattering the tree above into a thousand deadly pieces raining down on them. He couldn't hear her, because he was screaming curses into the dirt and her hair. Her helmet was long gone, and entirely unimportant as another blast rocked them like a ship in the roughest of seas.

Someone rolled into her. She turned. It was Malarkey, safe and next to them, pounding his fists into the dirt in his own useless rage.

There was nothing like being under artillery fire. The helplessness seized everyone and paralyzed most. They were impotent, unable to do anything, their fate in the hands of God and chance. There was no rhyme or reason to who got hit and who didn't. There was nothing any of them could do. No enemy available to kill. Nothing to do at all but sit there and pray that it wasn't the day their number was up.

"FIND COVER!" Lip yelled as he raced past them up the line, shepherding the fallen men, stranded on the trembling ground in terror, to foxholes and potential safety. "FIND A FOXHOLE!"

"TAKE COVER!!" bellowed Lieutenant Buck Compton from nearby.

Eve sent up a prayer for them both, and every other poor bastard not safely tucked into a hole. An extra moment for Roe, hoping no one injured called him from safety to patch them back together. And finally, she squeezed her eyes closed and prayed for herself.

Terror overwhelmed her as more shells burst through the trees to send shrapnel down on their foxhole and minimal cover. She kept her head low, protecting her neck by digging her chin into her breastbone. Squished there between Bill and the ever closer Malark, she could do nothing at all but hold on and keep praying.

Seconds stretched to their own eternity when you were so completely helpless and unable to do anything but contemplate your own mortality and wonder who was going to be gone when it was all over; whether it was going to be you, some poor bastard you didn't even know, or worst of all, one of your closest friends.

When the shells finally stopped, there was a prolonged moment where the whole unit held its breath. Eve found herself shaking and trembling, not from cold any longer but from fright as she assessed whether or not she was still all there, still alive, and waited for her ears to stop ringing. After that, she looked over the two men who'd pulled her into shelter, making sure they were both all right too as she took a few deep breaths to get her racing heart back under control.

When nothing happened, no further shells fell after several long, still minutes, she breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed her gun. It only took her a second to get into a firing position, shakes and nerves and terror all shed in light of the potential fight they'd have to slug their way through. The experience of too many battles survived kept her alert for incoming enemy infantry. The Germans might be using the shells to disorient them before attacking the position in force. They'd done it before in both Market Garden and Normandy.

"Maybe we should see if anybody's hit?" asked Malark, peering anxiously over the edge of their foxhole into the mist that still enshrouded them in this cursed forest.

Eve thought about it, thought about breaking cover. There was a sudden burning need to go check on her guys. She hoped they’d have enough sense to call out for Roe and Spina if they’d been hit and that they were smart enough to stay under cover until the officers sounded the all clear.

She stayed put. There was no telling what was coming next. She just had to trust that the boys were smart enough not to move.

"Ah Malark, that's what they want," said Bill, scanning the trees as well. "Krauts'll try and draw us out in the open."

Eve could hear Lip up and at it again, the First Sergeant’s voice moving first further away and then closer again as he was continuously calling out to remind everyone: "Stay in your foxholes! Stay in your foxholes!"

Some of the more ballsy guys ignored him, already up and about, quietly getting back to setting up the camp as though random shellings were completely normal. In some ways they were. Being under artillery fire was nothing new for Easy Company, but Eve could attest that it was absolutely terrifying each and every time it happened.

There was a stillness, an awed quiet that always hovered over the soldiers in the wake of a shelling, a hesitancy to move the wrong way and incur more shelling.

Under the howling wind and the insulating snow, she heard a voice, garbled but distinctly begging for help.

A glance at Malarkey told her that he'd heard it too. "You hear that?" he asked Bill to confirm.

"Is that Joe?" asked Bill recognizing the voice.

Eve listened, and suddenly, with Joe Toye in mind, the words took shape, mangled by either distance or pain or both.

"Yeah, I think that's Joe," Malark confirmed after a moment.

"I'll go," said Eve already half way through pulling herself out of the foxhole, protocol be damned if Toye was out there screaming for help. He was not a man who cried wolf about these kinds of things. If Toye needed help, she was gonna go get him.

"Stay," Bill ordered, putting a hand on her shoulder to push her back down. "I'll get him."

Eve met his eyes. She could see determination to go get to their friend laced with the fear she felt herself.

Bill gave her a reassuring nod, and Eve let him go. There was no time to waste if Toye really was injured.

Eve accepted that and slid the rest of the way down next to Malark.

"You watch her, Malark," Bill said as he jogged off.

Eve couldn't summon up the will holler at him – she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much – because she was feeling sick with worry. She had a bad feeling about all of this, a knot of apprehension coiled in her gut as she watched Bill disappear into the fog.

"STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!" She heard Compton yell a few yards away.

She accepted Malark's arm around her shoulders, leaning on him to draw some of his strength and hoped that she was wrong. Toye was fine.

The silence stretched. The tension ratcheted. Every noise in the fog became an incoming Kraut.

She looked at Malark; every inch of her wanted to go see for herself if her squad – if Toye – was all right, to go count heads and confront her losses. It was killing her, not knowing.

Malark held firm, keeping her pinned to the dirt. She was glad he was keeping her pinned, because she knew that as soon as he let her up, she'd go out there to survey the damage herself, and there was no guarantee that this was over yet.

So, she was glad that he was holding her down and the choice was taken out of her hands.

Thank God for Malarkey.

"INCOMING!" bellowed Lip mere moments before the shells started coming again.

Eve plastered herself to the dirt, waves of terror returning with a vengeance as the screaming explosives came down upon their heads again.

The second barrage was just as brutal, despite being a lot shorter than the first. She could hear the screams for a medic, and prayed for Roe, who was doubtless up and running in this shit, profoundly grateful that she’d never become a medic.

After far too long under the agony, the guns slowly drifted off their position, hammering some other spot on the line, the sounds of explosions tapering gradually off into the still howling wind.

"STAY DOWN! YOU STAY DOWN!" Lip called again.

Eve looked up, assessing the damage she could see to the world around them. It was bad, but not as bad as she was expecting. Honestly, Eve was surprised the forest still existed at all.

"MEDIC!"

It was Buck.

Malark’s arm tightened around her shoulders at the Lieutenant’s cry.

Eve didn’t want to know.

It took longer for the boys to get up and get moving this time. There was no telling if they would see a third shelling today or not, and everyone was all the more cautious at the implied threat.

It took a few long minutes of quiet before Malark and Eve cautiously made their way out of their foxhole and the protection it provided to take in the full scope of the attack.

She and Malark had been fortunate enough to have their hole mostly finished despite its minimal cover. Finding more lumber to finish the job wouldn't be a problem anymore. Half the damned forest was on the ground around them now thanks to the Germans’ dastardly fuse adjustments.

Some poor bastard had gotten stuck under a full tree that had fallen atop his foxhole. There were four or five guys already helping out though, so the duo moved on.

They wandered through the felled trees carefully, taking stock of the incredible damage that the barrages had wrecked in just a few moments. Some trees had been split down the middle; others had been cleaved in half. Some looked as though the bark had been flayed off them. Branches as thick as Eve’s arm littered the ground, impeding movement and making the footing treacherous.

Around one bend Malark froze. Eve, moving just behind him stopped too and her stomach dropped into her feet in horror.

 _No_ , she thought, _Not them. Not both of them._

It was only when she was next to Toye – not entirely sure how she'd gotten there – that she realized the man working on his leg was Gene. He met her eyes briefly but was entirely focused on the stub of a leg before him and the many exposed arteries sluggishly leaking blood onto the white snow.

The gore turned Eve’s stomach but she stubbornly quelled the urge to vomit. She'd seen injuries worse than this before, but it had never been Toye. Her eyes strayed helplessly to Bill, who was leaning against a tree and staring down at his leg, still attached to him by only a thin scrap of skin and torn apart like it had been chewed up by a hellhound and spat back out.

She looked at Gene again, lost. Her hands fluttered about, unsure what needed doing, but desperate to do something. Finally, Eve’s shaking fingers fumbled around in her bag and retrieved her aid kit before passing it to the Doc.

Gene acknowledged it with a nod. "Get the bandage out," he ordered.

Malark had joined her, helping to prop Toye up on the man’s other side. "Doc? What can I do?" the redhead asked.

"Here, hold this," said Roe. He put Malark's hand square on one of the bandages as he tied another one on and pulled everything tight, trying to cut off the bleeding.

Eve took the opportunity – since the men seemed to have it in hand – to go look after Bill, who couldn't keep his eyes off his leg.

"Hey, Bill," she said, touching his shoulder until he met her eyes. "You hanging in there?"

"You know me," he said, voice clipped with the pain or perhaps the shock of his injury.

"You're gonna be all right, this'll get you home for sure. Maybe if you're good, they'll even get you a nice looking nurse this time so you'll stick around."

He laughed, but it was hollow and forced, like he was laughing for her sake and not his own. That was okay. Eve needed him to laugh for her.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do with herself without Bill and Toye. They'd been at her side almost since the beginning, almost since Toccoa – albeit grudgingly there at the beginning. They'd both survived being hit before, some kind of angel of luck guarding each man or something with the way Toye'd almost been nailed by two potato mashers right outta the gate in Normandy. And Wild Bill Guarnere hadn't gotten his nickname by accident.

They were two of the best soldiers she'd ever seen, each tough as nails. Neither took crap from anybody and they both looked out for her and the other guys.

She bit her lip savagely to keep the tears at bay. Neither Toye nor Bill were crying, and they were the ones injured. She'd fought tooth and nail for their respect, and she wasn't going to let them see her fall apart now.

"You got a cigarette?" asked Toye the air. Malark, still holding him up, patted his pockets and came up empty.

"Here," said Eve. She fished the one she'd gotten from Speirs out of her pocket and reluctantly left Bill for the few seconds it took her to pass it over to the redhead. Malarkey lit it with a grateful smile and gave it to Toye. Eve couldn't even bring herself to tell him that the cigarette was from Speirs, though she thought he might get a kick out of it. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd embarrass herself and start sobbing.

"What's a guy gotta do to get killed around here?" Toye complained as she made her way back to Bill.

Eve laughed, but the sound that came out was a lot closer to a sob. She squashed the sound. She would never forgive herself for crying in front of these men, especially when they had so much more cause for tears than she did.

"Hey, chin up, kid," Bill said, determined to keep the mood light. "Ain't that bad. I could still kick your ass."

Eve laughed. "Yeah," she said, wobbly, unable to put into words how much it meant that he was trying to comfort her. She couldn't make her throat work, couldn't wish him well or say another word, so gave up and just wrapped her arm around his shoulders in a hug he leaned into. Who it was for was suddenly unclear as Bill sagged into her and then straightened as though rejuvenated.

"Bill, you goin' first," said Roe, spying the stretcher and First Sergeant Lipton incoming.

"Whatever you say, Doc. Whatever you say," said Bill, pulling away.

"Over here!" called Roe, deftly ignoring the other scattered cries for a medic. He had all he could handle right now, Spina would be on his way to take care of what he could, Eve knew, but the Doc could only be in one place at a time. And she was fiercely grateful that he was here with Bill and Joe. "Take this man," said Gene. He pointed at Bill and went back to bandaging Toye.

Eve backed off to give the stretcher-bearers room to work. Regretting the brevity of the embrace even as she resigned herself to it being the last time she'd see Bill for a long while.

"Hey," said Bill, addressing both Eve and Lipton who’d come into the clearing and was staring with horror at the scene. "They got ole Guarnere this time."

Bill’s face was scared, but his voice was as strong as ever. And Eve was infinitely grateful.

She didn't know what she'd do if Bill broke down in front of her. She already knew that she needed to find somewhere private to sob her eyes out, but that had to wait. It had to.

Bill and Toye deserved to go out the way Bill was trying to make it: with as light-hearted a mood as possible for such a tragedy – even if it was tearing her to pieces inside.

"We got you soldier," one of the stretcher bearers said as he and his partner pulled Bill onto the green canvas.

Bill screamed when they moved his leg, but they kept at it until he was up. Eve had to bite her lip to keep from barking at the soldiers to be careful. She knew they were, but hearing Bill scream like that, killed her inside. The stretcher bearers had enough grisly experience to get the man settled quickly, getting the move over with in one fell swoop, rather than prolong the pain by taking it slow and careful.

Still, watching Bill’s face contort in agony as he was manhandled onto the stretcher was one of the hardest things she'd ever seen.

"Hey, Joe, I told you I'd beat you back to the States," Bill teased as his stretcher passed the still ground bound Toye.

Eve couldn't help the laugh that bubbled free. It was laugh or cry openly at this point, and she couldn’t afford to cry right now. She had to keep her emotions fiercely under control.

The look of triumph on Bill's face was fleeting, disappearing quickly under the weight of his agony. She didn't mention that she'd seen it at all.

She moved back over to Toye, helping Malark stabilize him in a seated position again, free hand fluttering again as she tried to help. Toye, arms suddenly free from holding up his own weight, snagged her hand and pinned it against his chest, tightening his grip as waves of pain crashed over him in time with the pulse of his heart.

Eve offered him a smile but it was tremulous at best. A tear escaped her as she blinked and Toye’s face crumpled.

"Hey, doll," he said, soothingly, slipping into a nickname she'd never heard from him before. "Don't you go all soft and female on me now."

"Never," she promised, forcing her emotions back down fiercely.

He gritted his teeth through another wave of pain, nearly crushing her hand. "Never thought I'd beat you home, kid," he said.

Toye turned his attention to Malark on his other side. "You watch out for her all right?" he demanded.

"You got it, Joe," promised Malarkey.

Toye gave him a searching look but must have been satisfied by what he’d seen because he nodded and addressed them both. "You two are the last Toccoa Non-Coms in Second Platoon. You do me and Gonorrhea proud, you hear?"

Eve nodded, feeling a tear well up once more. "All right."

She couldn't help herself as she followed his gaze to where his limb, which had been there only minutes before, had vanished. She met Gene's somber gaze. The medic tried to smile, to reassure her too, but her stomach was in knots.

 _Dear God_ , she thought, suddenly recanting every prayer she'd ever made to get her men home alive.  _A_ _live is not enough when they can't be whole too_.

What kind of life could they lead as cripples if they even made it back to the US alive? It was hard enough to find work before the war, what would happen now when they had such glaring disadvantages?

Even as she thought it, she knew she was being unfair, unreasonable even. They were both alive. They were going home _alive_ and that was more than most guys got. There was some value in that. There was a lot of value in that.

She just wished she wasn't going to miss them so much.

Luz came over and drew Lipton away to look after Lieutenant Compton.

Eve was too busy focused on watching Gene switch out red bandages for white ones while they waited endlessly for the stretcher to come back, to spare any attention for men who weren’t injured right now.

It took forever, longer than the endless quiet pause between barrages, longer than the barrages themselves. Waiting on that stretcher, knowing every minute was another bit of blood that Toye couldn't afford to lose, was sheer agony.

When they finally arrived, they wasted no time in settling Toye on board too. Eve released his hand only when Toye was safely on the stretcher.

He gave her one last tight smile as they hauled him off to an aid station and then hopefully home.

Suddenly at odds with nothing to do, she followed Gene's concerned gaze and found Lip squatting next to Lieutenant Compton, who had his face buried in his hands. It took only a few moments observing before she understood.

They were losing Compton too.

It wasn’t his body that was injured, it was his mind.

The German artillery couldn't have crippled Second Platoon more effectively with a sniper. In one barrage, they'd lost more than half of their leadership, including the one decent Platoon leader left in Easy Company.

They were doomed to Dike's ineptitude.

Gene moved to squat down next to her. "I'm gonna write it off as Trench Foot," he confided, tilting his head towards Buck, his deep, calming voice soothed the ragged edges of her soul for the moment. "He'll get off the line honorably."

Eve could do nothing but nod, not when she was so broken hearted herself about all of it. _If only I’d gone for Toye instead_ , she suddenly thought with a twinge of panic and the grim knowledge of certainty that ' _what if_ ' questions give, _Bill and Buck would've stayed, and Second Platoon wouldn't be quite so crippled_. She cringed away from the word even as she thought it.

Bill and Toye were not crippled. They were still the very capable, very smart men that she'd met in Toccoa all that time ago, and that hadn't changed. They weren't the kind of men to look at a disadvantage and give up. Oh no. They'd figure it out quickly and be back on their feet and causing trouble soon, she was certain. She had to be.

"Okay," she whispered, voice hoarse with all the suppression she'd been doing. Gene seemed to require an answer before he'd stop looking at her like she was glass about to shatter into pieces. Just because she felt that fragile didn't mean she had to show it to anyone.

She got up, forced her legs to move, and found a shell hole, far enough away from where the rest of Easy was going about trying to make some sense of order out of the chaos of the attack, ignorant of the enormity of what they'd lost just yet.

She couldn't be the one to tell them. She didn't want to believe it herself. Couldn't help but relive it over and over, turning the corner to see her friends, her mentors, irreparably wounded.

Eve kept to herself until she was absolutely certain she was alone before breaking down into body wracking sobs, interspersed with hacking coughs as she sank to the ground, beating on it with clenched fists to release her pent up feelings.

She tried to be quiet, private, as she grieved for the great men she'd lost, and for the future Easy now faced without them.

Either no one saw, or they’d intentionally let her alone, but she was left in peace.

Finally, after too long, she found she could cry no more, feeling hollowed out and drained she picked herself up and went to go see how her squad was fairing.

She just had to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Bill and Toye would expect nothing less. She would not disappoint them now.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are every Thursday. All my love to those who left kudos. 
> 
> Happy New Years to each and every one of you. I'm sorry this chapter happened to fall on this day, but there you have it. I hope your 2016 is better than this year was. You guys have made my year absolutely amazing and I'm so grateful for all of you. Thank you for reading!


	39. Shell-Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere are injured and leave Easy Company.
> 
> "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed him. And they were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by wild beasts of the earth." — Revelation 6:8
> 
> "That, I've come to believe, is the hardest thing about war: to be faced with so many emotional situations involving people who've come to mean the world to you. Losing those people, sometimes right in front of you. And yet not being able to grieve for them. Even after the war, when you were expected to just get on with your life as if nothing more had happened to you than, say, a reshuffling of your living room furniture." — Sgt. Don Malarkey
> 
> Now: Easy Company endures another shelling in the forests around Foy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Atman are all amazing people who have taken the time to help polish this. Huge thanks to them.
> 
> Warning: Canonical Character Death

-Chapter 39-

Eve found Malarkey on his way back into camp a few days later. They were the last two original Sergeants from Second still alive, and she needed to check in with him in her role as the new Platoon Sergeant.

She'd just taken a grim head count. Half of Second's replacements had been casualties after the barrage that took out Toye and Guarnere, another two had frozen to death overnight, and one poor bastard had been pulled off the line when his feet had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe.

Of the guys she knew in Second, somehow Jackson had survived, which was a great relief to her. Babe was still hanging in there as well, his cough all but gone. She wished her own would go too, but the hacking coughs still plagued her despite the precious shot of penicillin she’d gotten a few days ago.

Liebgott and Roe were both still around and well enough to keep carping on about her cough, so she knew they were doing all right.

Winters had pulled Perconte, Christenson, and Webb back up to rejoin Easy in preparation for the attack on Foy. They'd cleared the forest east of Foy the day after the barrage. The idea was to get the men – grief stricken in some cases at the monumental loss of so many of their friends – and get them moving, give them something useful to concentrate on.

Today they'd done a patrol to clear the forest to the west of Foy. Despite meeting very little resistance, the knot in Eve's gut didn't dissipate.

"Hey, Malark," she greeted the man once she’d found him.

The redhead, who wouldn't shut up in Normandy, had his shoulders slumped in defeat – something that was heartbreaking in and of itself. He'd just returned from taking Buck his letters from mail call and while usually such a visit cheered him up, he seemed sad. He tried on a small smile for her; though when she approached, she could tell it was a mere gesture for her sake rather than a genuine emotion because his eyes remained stoic.

She was worried about him.

"How's your squad looking?" she said, deciding to stick to business.

"What's left is doing all right," he said dimly, falling into step with her.

"How's Buck doin'?" she asked, unable to keep the question back.

She was ashamed that she couldn't bring herself to visit Toye and Guarnere before they’d been shipped back to a hospital in England. There hadn't been much chance. Men with injuries as severe as theirs were rushed to the rear to free up beds for soldiers with a chance of returning to the line.

Malark gave her a blank look and shook his head, all the answer she needed. Eve closed her eyes as she felt the hope she'd been clinging to – that despite his obvious shellshock and forged trench foot, Buck would come back to the line – dissipate.

That obviously wasn't going to happen. It had been a fool's hope anyways, but she'd still been clinging to it, desperately not dwelling on the inevitable disaster waiting to strike now that Easy's best leader – their last leader – was gone.

Now, even if Winters could get Dike transferred out of Easy, there was no one to replace him. Their last defense between them and Lieutenant Dike had been ripped away.

They were stuck with Foxhole Norman for good now, and he was off making a call.

"Do you know who's taking over?" he asked instead.

"Lieutenant Shames, maybe?" speculated Eve. "Foley's sticking with First, but without Compton, or Peacock, or Welsh for that matter, we're short a Platoon Lieutenant." She shot him a glance. Somehow he'd managed to get his shoulders to sink lower. "Don't worry about it though. Winters'll figure it out."

"Yeah," he said morosely.

"I've got room in my foxhole if you need a buddy," she offered on a whim. She'd dug a hole big enough for two people out of habit despite just needing a hole for one with so few men left – just in case someone ended up stranded during an artillery strike. She figured someone would end up with her in there eventually; it might as well be Malarkey.

He gave her a far more genuine smile this time, likely relieved not to have to dig one himself so late in the evening. "You got it, Eve," he said.

She showed him where it was before drifting away to do some rounds, Malarky drifted in the opposite direction as she did, towards the sound of Muck and Luz calling him over to gossip.

Hopefully they’d cheer him up.

She drifted around to the rest of Second's foxholes, making sure the guys were either digging or working on dragging over cover. As she helped, it didn't take long for her to hear the story about Lieutenant Dike during the barrage that took Toye and Guarnere's legs.

Apparently, their esteemed Company Commander had decided to "go for help" without a helmet or equipment of any kind when Luz and his ever present radio were sitting not three feet away.

As soon as she heard the story, she knew it was trouble – spreading like poison to instill fear in the guys and mistrust in their leadership.

It needed to stop before it did even more damage.

Eve told the gossips not to talk about it anymore. Stating variations of: "It doesn't do anybody any good. We're stuck with Dike; we need to at least give him a chance," so often that she felt like a broken record.

She kept her personal opinion – that Dike was completely inept and going to get them all killed – to herself.

After all, there was very little damage he could do here in the woods when the best they could do anyway was dig in and hold on as the artillery rained down on them. They just had to suck it up and deal with it when he went missing for long stretches of time.

Eve didn't need the clenching knot in her gut to tell her that bad things were on the horizon for Easy. All she could do was grit her teeth and keep her platoon’s morale up. They had to believe they were going to make it through. They had to, or they wouldn't.

She dreaded the upcoming attack on Foy. Right now, Dike was an inconvenience but ultimately not dangerous because there was nothing for him to do but order them to hold the position, but privately she dreaded to see him under pressure. She had the feeling that he'd crack like a walnut.

When she'd finished her rounds and made it back to her and Malarkey’s foxhole, it was dark. The wind blew the fat snowflakes sideways, letting the draft sneak into every crevice of her clothing and causing more than one coughing fit. She kept her bare hands wedged in her pockets or under her arms for warmth and hunched down to let as little of the back of her neck meet the cold air as possible. Jesus Christ, it was cold.

Eve caught sight of a group of four, their height and the way they were standing indicating who it was, and she walked into earshot just as Luz delivered the punch line to his rendition of the story she'd been hearing all day, voice pitched to imitate Dike, confirming her theory. His audience of three was Malarkey, Penkala, and Muck, who were laughing along at the man's act.

She was about to put a stop to it – that story had already spread far enough – when Lip, who was walking by and had also noticed the laughing men, called Luz away for a chat.

"See you, fellas," mumbled Luz and went to meet the First Sergeant for an inevitable scolding. The remaining three broke up and headed back for their holes for the night.

"Night all," said Malarkey, the first to leave the group.

"See ya, Malark," said Muck as he and Penk made their way to their own foxhole.

-

Leaving his friends, intending to find his own foxhole, Malark was unsurprised to find Ev standing behind him, a tight twist to her brow that meant he'd disappointed her in some way. He sighed and went to meet his own scolding.

Ev wasn't a person he liked disappointing. Malark knew that she had the highest respect for a lot of them, and wasn’t one to voice her disapproval whenever she didn’t like what they were doing, but he could always tell when it had happened anyways because of the telltale furrow between her brows. It made his gut twist, like he was a toddler again and his mom had caught him with a hand in the cookie jar.

He hated it the feeling.

She waited until they got settled and he'd spread the blankets around their shoulders to speak, her hoarse voice quiet. "Hey, Malark?" she asked.

He hummed an answer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, ignoring the wet sounding cough she hacked into his shoulder as he tried to warm her up a bit.

"Don't go spreading around what Luz said, all right?" she asked, voice soft and tinged with the desire to sleep. "We've gotta keep the guys focused on staying alive, not wasting their time on Dike."

He sighed. She was right, but she’d started coughing again, burying her face deeply into her elbow to keep from coughing on him and convulsing with it. "You got it, Ev," he said, trying to hide his worry for her.

 _Jesus_ , he thought. _How sick is she? Christ. I don’t want to lead the platoon. Please, God, let her get better._

-

Eve gave a last cough and leaned deeper into the warmth radiating from Malark's chest in a bid for sleep. She was so fucking cold that he felt like a furnace.

“Thanks, Malark,” she whispered. Her eyelids drooped, heavy as though weight had been added to them, when the thunder of dropping mortars jolted her to complete awareness.

There'd been no scream of warning as the shells hit, no indication at all that they were about to come under fire before they'd suddenly been thrust once more into hell.

It was the rudest awakening ever.

The shells blasted the trees around them to smithereens. The ground bucked and rolled from underneath them. Malark twisted, dragging them both further under the logs of cover all the foxholes now had as standard, as the ground near them shattered, splitting into gaping wounds as shell after shell tore the world around them to pieces.

Eve clenched her eyes tight to keep from being blinded. She could still see the bursts of light behind her eyelids, afterimages of multicolored stars littered the dark of her vision as the blast etched itself into her memory. Each hit caused her whole body to flinch in terror, something she had no more control over than shivering.

"INCOMING!" someone screamed, rather uselessly at this point, but just in case the other positions were about to be hit too.

She buried her nose into the dirt and held on. Malark plastered himself to her back, his arm around her waist, as a blast tore away their tree cover, exposing them to the dangerous falling debris.

Blast after blast rocked the world, a concussive lights show that never seemed to end as gunpowder exploded in an endless, rapid succession. There was no time between blasts to even breathe as each shockwave yanked the dirt from under her and slammed her back into it. Malark, on her back, held on to her.

There were sounds of screaming, a cacophony of sound lost in the repetitive thunderous booms from the shells. Eve couldn't make out anything, couldn't move at all, trapped and completely useless.

She mouthed prayers into the dirt even as her fists turned into claws as though she could grip the earth and hold it still once more. The sharp tang of the frozen ground nipped her tongue as she gave a litany of prayers; for people she pleaded with God to protect.

The blasts continued to fall.

A shower of dirt chilled her neck. Something sharp bit into her hand. The pain centered her. She looked and found that her hand had clenched around the precious piece of pottery she'd grabbed at her uncle's house Paris and forgotten about completely. She unclenched her hand, not wanting to damage the delicate porcelain and instead wrapped her arms around her head, jostling Malarkey and reminding him to cover his own head.

It never seemed to end.

Until it did, just as suddenly as it had started.

"Stay down until we call all clear!" someone bellowed.

Eve held her breath, not willing to let herself believe it was finished until they finally did call all clear.

Malark rolled off her and pulled her into a hug of relief. She clung to him too, sending fervent thanks to God that it was over for now. Body still hitching with shivers and coughing now that her fear wasn't choking her, Eve pulled back. The redhead lit up a smoke and offered it to her. She waved it away, coughing too nastily already without making it worse by trying to smoke again. The remaining adrenaline from the sudden attack drained from Eve all at once, leaving her even more exhausted than before.

With the practicality born from being on the front lines – who knew when they’d get to sleep again? – Malark repositioned the blankets and what he could reach of their scattered cover without leaving the safety of their foxhole before settling in next to her.

They'd have to face the grim reality of what the attack had wrought in the morning. There was nothing that would change tonight and she'd be completely useless if she tried. Casualties could wait, and Gene would already have the wounded well in hand.

With that final grim thought, she drifted off, jerking awake every few minutes at the still falling artillery haunting her mind and dreams.

-

The sun meagerly radiating beyond her eyelids did not wake her, nor did the cold filtering between her layers of protection.

It was the rock in her gut. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness in the wake of the casualties she'd put off dealing with last night. The reality of the inescapable death at the hands of the German artillery hadn't gone away, and she couldn't put off dealing with it any longer.

She'd ignored Malarkey's restless shifting for as long as she could, guilty all the while that she'd tried to feign sleep just a bit longer when they had casualties – likely friends – to mourn. It was just hard to convince herself to get up when the only certainty the day could bring was more death. Eve knew in her heart that if she wasn't extremely careful, the next person being shipped home would be her.

Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. She rose with a sigh of resignation and steeled her nerves to deal with the casualties she'd put off dealing last night – after a shelling like that it was inevitable that they’d lost people, it was just a question of how many, and who.

Malark gave his own sigh and stood with her.

He cursed before falling reverently silent at the devastation before them.

Eve surveyed the apocalyptic landscape. It was as though the devil had reached out and raked the world with devastation, leaving only pain and anger behind.

She briskly folded the blankets with Malarkey and tucked them away, refusing to recognize it for the stalling method it was.

"Hey, Malark," called Luz, breaking the fragile peace that silence gave.

"Yeah, Luz?" said Malark, sounding exhausted.

Eve's already heavy gut dropped to her feet as she took in the radioman's hangdog expression. "Who was it?" she asked, not aware she'd said something until the question was hanging between them.

Her heart was begging for Luz to start teasing them, to confess to a prank rather than the inevitable confession of whom they'd lost last night. And they'd most certainly lost someone for the ever cheerful Luz to look so wrung out.

The man wilted instead. "Muck and Penkala got hit last night. They're gone," he said.

Eve felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs, and she couldn't breathe for a moment. The sharp inhale prompting a coughing fit that neither of the two men noticed. The knot in her stomach flipped over in horror. _Please_ , she begged God, _please, no._

Her gaze turned to Malarkey, who'd been buddies with Muck and Penakala. They'd been a mortar squad since Toccoa, and saw the blood had drained from the Irishman's face. He'd reeled backwards like Luz had sucker punched him, and then deflated as though his soul had been sucked out. What was left behind in the wake of this news was a mere shell of her friend, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Where?" asked Malark listlessly.

Luz inclined his head and led the two Sergeants to the crater that was all that remained of the two lively young men from Toccoa. It was hard to walk with so much debris on the ground. Trees taller and older than any man here lay in pieces on the ground like abandoned matchsticks.

Eve stood by as Malark squatted by the charred circle. Luz, no longer quite so raw from the loss after dwelling on it all night, hopped into the foxhole to search for anything that remained of the men.

Eve felt hollow as she watched Luz hand Malark what was left of Skip's rosary, just a few beads and the cross.

While she hadn't been particularly close to the duo, not like Malark had been, everyone in Easy Company was like family, especially the guys who’d been together since Toccoa. She felt like she'd lost her brothers, like a vital part of her family went missing with each casualty.

She would miss the laugher those boys brought out in everyone. Easy Company would be a much sadder place without them.

"Hey, Ev!" called Lip, breaking her from her melancholy and bringing her back to her duty.

Eve squeezed Malark's shoulder, not quite sure how she'd come to grasp it in the first place, and moved to intercept the First Sergeant.

"You doin' all right, Buchanan?" said Lip when she reached him, taking in her slumped shoulders.

Eve pulled herself together. Squaring her shoulders, she answered, "I'm fine."

"You sure?" he said, making sure to catch her eyes, seriously concerned. "With Buck gone, we need you to hold Second Platoon together. Malarkey isn't looking too good right now."

Eve followed his gaze to the man walking back towards their foxhole with his shoulders slumped almost to his toes in defeat.

Malark was on shaky ground. This made five – or was it six? – of his good friends who had been killed or seriously wounded since they’d been out here. She'd try her best to comfort him, but there was only so much she could do.

It struck her afresh how dire their situation was. She was the senior NCO of Second Platoon, and all that stood between her guys and Dike. They'd lost Muck, Penkala, Compton, Guarnere and Toye just this week. Maybe Malarkey too – she’d have to keep an eye on him for a while to make sure he was okay. That had to be her priority, not the wellbeing of just one man – no matter how much she wanted to focus on helping him. There was nothing she could say to make the loss of his friends better or more bearable – there never was. She would just have to watch him.

It was down to her to keep Second Platoon together, and the gravity of the job, the sudden weight on her shoulders, was crushing.

Eve had to keep it together. She couldn't let them down.

"You got it, Lip," she said, quietly. "I won't let you down."

He gave her a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but she was too heartsick to return it properly.

"Just, ah, remember that I'm here if you ever need to talk," he said, somehow more concerned now than he was before. He touched her shoulder in reassurance and she seemed to draw strength from the contact.

"Thanks, Lip," she said. "I appreciate it." She heaved a deep sigh and looked back at Malarkey who was wandering back to his foxhole. "I'm going to go walk the line, see if anyone needs anything."

"Okay. Let 'em know they should get ready to move. We're heading out this afternoon," he said. At her raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "Overlooking Foy again. No new foxholes to dig tonight."

Eve nodded. "Got it, Sarge," she said, and went to go make another round to check on the rest of her guys. Muck and Penkala were so vital to the morale of Easy Company, she needed to make sure everyone else was doing all right in the wake of their loss.

"Hey, Buchanan?" said Lip before she could go too far. She turned back to listen. "Be careful," he said. "We can't afford to lose you."

"You too, Lip," she said, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

She left Malark and Luz under Lipton's watchful eye as she went to check on everyone else, hopeful that the morale wouldn’t be too low as they got ready to face the rest of this already dreadful day. She could feel eyes watching her go and tried to keep her shoulders square under the weight they were suddenly bearing.

Maybe trying to raise Second Platoon’s morale would help her raise her own.

-

Eve tried not to dwell on Muck and Penkala. She did her job, checking on the guys on the line and making sure they'd gone to see a medic if they'd been injured in the barrages.

That was the hardest part of it all. She knew that most of the guys were hiding some sort of ailment, but their fierce loyalty to each other kept them quiet, kept them on the line with their buddies. It took all kinds of coaxing to get them to even admit they were hurting, and even more to extract a promise to seek out a medic.

She was smart enough to know that not even half of them would follow through, so she kept a mental tally to give Gene later. She didn't see why they should get away with hiding injuries when every time she got a scratch Gene was there asking to waste a bandage on it.

It was a testament to the closeness they shared that every man she spoke to asked about Malark. The news of Muck and Penkala's deaths, the latest in a long line of Malark's friends to die, had everybody concerned about the redhead.

Though Eve had her own concern for the man, she reassured everyone – but Second Platoon especially – that he was hanging in there.

She hoped that she wasn’t lying.

-

After her walk on the line, Eve made it back to her foxhole, feeling worn through. Malark had waved her off, preferring to be alone to deal with his grief. Eve understood that well enough, and went looking for the other man who'd been deeply affected by the lost mortar men.

It didn't take her long to find Luz. He was smoking like a chimney but gave her a smile when she hopped down into his foxhole.

"You got space for one more?" she asked.

“Help yourself," he offered, lifting a corner of his blanket with his arm. Eve slid into the pocket and spread her own blanket over his before settling down.

He gave her a nudge with his elbow and offered her a cigarette, probably out of politeness since Luz knew Eve didn't smoke.

She took the cigarette anyway and added it to her stash. She'd probably give it to Gene later.

"Still keeping a stockpile, Eve?" he asked, inhaling a long draw.

"Yeah," she said, coughing a bit thanks to the smoke he huffed into her face. "You never know when I'll need a shower guard."

He outright laughed, as she was hoping he would. They hadn't even changed their clothes in over a month, much less showered. The idea of showering now – when they'd likely freeze to death or the sky would start tearing itself apart in another shelling – was laughable.

And then it got quiet.

Eve occasionally coughed – now that she'd started it was hard to stop – and Luz kept smoking away, eyes distant and unfocused.

"You ever think we're going to die, Ev?" asked the man, breaking the weighty silence.

"Everyone dies eventually, Luz," she said, and then got to the meat of what he'd been trying to say. "I'm not planning on dying anytime soon, if that's what you're asking."

He didn't respond, so she continued, "And when it's my time to go, I'll be taking a few Kraut bastards with me," she said. "You're likely to do the same."

Another weighty silence settled between them. Eve – her cough finally suppressed with a sip from her canteen – was on the verge of sleep when Luz spoke again.

"Do you think anyone from Toccoa's going to make it to the end?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," she said with certainty. It was a feeling she had, as telling as the sinking feeling from this morning, not something that she could describe or qualify but absolute.

"Really?"

"Yes," she said.

"Why?"

Her voice was songlike in cadence as sleep fought to take her. "Because, we're the best there is. You know how many replacements have come and gone? I'd say we've already replaced the whole company once with them, and yet here you and I sit, still shooting the shit."

He cracked a half-assed smile she couldn't see but felt in the lifting of the shoulder she was leaning against.

"George," she said, mustering what remained of her coherence to impart this wisdom. "You can't start thinking you're going to die. You gotta live for everyone from Toccoa who didn’t make it. It's our burden to share their stories now."

He rolled that over in his mind for a second before saying, "Did Skip ever tell you the story about how he swam across the Niagara?"

"On purpose?" she demanded.

"Yep," said Luz, popping the 'p'. "Some bet."

"I always knew he was a couple apples short of a bushel," she said, too tired not to be a wiseass.

George laughed and said, "Ain't we all."

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Updates are every Thursday. Huge shout out to everyone who left kudos or left comments. You guys are amazing.
> 
> Sorry this one was so rough. I hope I did it justice.


	40. Foy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Skip Muck and Alex Penkala disintegrated in a cloud of fire as Easy Company endured hell on earth.
> 
> "Courage is contagious. When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are stiffened." – Billy Graham
> 
> Now: The long awaited attack on Foy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Atman deserve a lot of love for catching all my bumps and stumbles on this chapter. Huge thanks to all of them.

-Chapter 40-

After the shelling that took Muck and Penkala, Lip seemed to be everywhere at once. He constantly moved through the line, chatting with one person, smiling and joking with the next. He was a First Sergeant, which meant he looked after the entire company, and he took the job very seriously.

It wasn't long before Eve started thinking of the tireless First Sergeant as “Mama Lip” – privately, because she knew they’d both be teased mercilessly if the nickname got out – but the affectionate moniker suited him well; the man endlessly mollycoddled everyone about food, warmth, and shelter, looking after them like a mother duck with errant ducklings. She very much appreciated him for it, and it was all well and good when he was cajoling someone else, but when it was Eve's turn, she found somewhere else to be.

Lip could be worse than Gene when he put his mind to worrying about her cough – nevermind that the man was starting to cough himself when he thought no one was looking.

But he was always there, always present, constantly reassuring the men that they’d pull through.

Eve did her best to emulate him as she took over Second Platoon, she was the most senior sergeant left, just edging Malarkey out of the job. Malarkey had been hit hard in the last week, several of the casualties were men he’d counted among his closest friends and he was taking it hard. She swallowed her own grief and tried to hold her tattered Platoon together.

They’d been hit hard in the barrages and spirits were low in the wake of their losses. Guarnere and Toye were irreplaceable, but she tried her best.

In the wake of her own overwhelming pain, it might have been easy to overlook how hard losing two capable sergeants and their last capable platoon leader was hitting the rest of Easy Company, but a quick glance around camp proved that general morale was at an all time low. It had been a rough week for all of them, not just Second.

Eve made it her goal to get as many people smiling as possible, exchanging jokes and pleasantries with people she hadn’t had much cause for talking to before, making sure everyone was keeping their head above water. Some of the guys, noticeably the replacements, started joking back.

If she had any quietly lingering doubts about whether or not the replacements were still bitter about her gender, they were eradicated in the hours after the barrage that took Toye and Guarnere. Each and every replacement she’d ever heard even the slightest rumor that they didn’t care for her, came up to her personally and let her know that they appreciated that she was still out here with them. They finally understood that Eve was just like any other platoon sergeant, trying to do her best by them, and she could see in every smile she evoked that they were glad she was here.

The more she got to know the men, her men now, the tighter the knot of dread in her gut wound.

They were going to attack Foy soon. They'd finished clearing the woods of Krauts and just seemed to be waiting for the okay from on high before they pressed their attack on the town itself.

If she was certain of anything, it was this: if Dike led them into action, he was going to get them all killed.

The anxiety built and built with each passing hour, with each man she spoke to and got to know a little better, until it was choking her.

She had to say something. But to whom?

She couldn't go to Winters, he was too far up the ladder from her and Second Platoon hadn't been assigned a new Lieutenant yet to act as an intermediary; not that she would trust a new officer with her fears even if there was someone – she might’ve been able to speak to Buck, Buck would’ve understood, but he was gone.

With no other options, despite being loath to burden him with more troubles, she sought out the only person left who could say something without a major breach of protocol.

"First Sergeant Lipton?" she called, back straight, tone firm. She hoped the First Sergeant would pick up on these nonverbal cues and realize that she wanted to talk to him professionally and not as a friend. "May I have a word in private?"

Lip’s keen eyes searched her over before nodding. In silence, he led her away from the prying ears on the line, waiting until they were a few hundred yards away from where ever present eavesdroppers might be lurking. Lip surveyed the area before shoving his hands into his armpits once more and addressing her, “What’s up, Buchanan?”

"Sir," she gnawed on her bottom lip as she searched for the words. Now that the time was here, she couldn’t think of a way to appropriately phrase her fears without coming across as insubordinate.

-

Lip watched Evelyn Buchanan as she shifted before him.

It had been so long since he’d seen her nervous, he’d almost forgotten she was capable of the emotion.

Eve had always been levelheaded. She’d taken up the position of Platoon Sergeant with more grace than he’d anticipated after losing two of her best friends. He’d known for a while that she was an effective leader, but she’d flourished with the whole platoon to look after. He felt privileged to be amongst the few whom she considered her friends.

If she was afraid to say something to _him_ , well, Lip was preparing himself for a catastrophe, or perhaps a riot. A traitorous thought grabbed his attention and held on, the thought that perhaps now that the Toccoa guys' vigilance in keeping replacements in line had slacked off and some dumb kid had taken a chance and assaulted her. If that was the case, honestly there was probably very little Lip could do to stop the Toccoa guys – hell, the Second Platoon guys – from killing the perpetrator. They needed all the help they could get while they were out here, and though he might not be able to bring himself to stop them, he knew they couldn’t afford to lose any more men.

“It’s all right, Ev,” he said gently, praying he was wrong. “You can tell me.”

He saw her spine straighten and braced himself.

"We're leading the attack into Foy tomorrow, sir, and we have no leader. Lt. Dike is going to get my men killed."

Lip breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank God. It’s not good, but it could’ve been much worse._

"Ev, there's nothing we can do," he said.

Dike was at least ground he was familiar with, and while their current leader wasn’t something he could control, it wasn't exactly a new concern. He’d been worrying about Dike for months. _Still, it isn’t like Ev to question command. The last time must’ve been … Sobel, all those years ago when she was still a Corporal._

But if Eve, who was notorious for never complaining about superior officers, was outright stating her concern, maybe he should trust his gut and speak up.

_If she thinks there’s a problem too, then this is bigger than I thought._

"I know that, sir, but," she paused. "Please, at least speak to Captain Winters so he can have some sort of contingency in place when Dike falls apart in the field."

It probably wouldn't change anything, or do any good, but it would make him feel better. And it might give Winters a chance to prepare for the worst – though if Lip knew the Captain, Winters was already doing just that.

_Still…_

"I'll talk to Winters." Lip agreed, watching the woman sag with relief.

“Thank you, Lip,” she breathed.

“It’ll be all right, Ev,” he reassured, clapping her on the shoulder on the shoulder. “You’ll see.” He looked into her eyes until she nodded. "Why don’t you go make sure your men are dug in with cover?”

“You got it, sir,” she said with a small smile and left him alone.

Once he was sure he was alone, Lip sighed, feeling the heavy weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders.

He squared his shoulders, steeling himself as he prepared to do something that, as a First Sergeant, he never thought he would do.

-

Winters was working on the battle plan with Nix, just calling in the KIA from the last barrage to command and looking over the maps one last time before initiating the assault on Foy.

"Captain Winters, sir, can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Ah, Lieutenant Dike," said Winters, surprised to see the usually elusive man. "How are things with the men?"

"Easy Company is ready, sir," the Lieutenant said confidently.

Winters took a moment to scrutinize the man before him. Dike looked every inch the competent military man, from the way he kept himself neatly groomed, to his steadfast bearing as he stood at attention before them. The Lieutenant always filled his voice with confidence and authority, and his verbal articulacy certainly gave off a good impression. Now, if Winters could just get the man to stay in camp.

"Good," said Winters. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Dike asked.

"Granted," said Winters, sharing an amused glance with Nixon, who moved away to the other end of the CP to offer them a little privacy.

"I noticed that you promoted Sergeant Buchanan to Platoon Sergeant for Second Platoon."

"I did," answered Winters.

Typically that job would have been up to the Company CO to assign, but Dike had let the matter sit for more than a day and Winters had needed Second to run a patrol this morning. After taking stock of the situation in Second, Buchanan had seemed like the obvious choice.

"Sir," said Dike, forging ahead unaware of Winters's thoughts. "Are you sure she's qualified for the position? She only recently became a Staff Sergeant. It looks odd for a woman to advance when there are more senior men able to take the position instead."

Winters scrutinized the man, hiding his incredulity behind a mask of ice.

Just because he wasn't directly leading Easy anymore didn't make him blind. Dike's solution to dealing with Buchanan in combat was simply to ignore her. It hadn't been too big a deal with both Compton and Guarnere acting as a buffer between him and the woman, but now that they'd both been sent to the aid station, unlikely to return, and she'd been promoted, Dike couldn't ignore her any longer.

The man’s solution was apparently to remove her from the chain of command altogether, not seeing how well she was already doing in the position or perhaps not caring.

She was the only obvious choice and Dike didn’t like it because she was a woman.

He wanted to strip her of a position she’d rightfully earned because he couldn’t see past her gender.

It wasn’t going to happen on Winters’s watch.

"Sergeant Buchanan is the most qualified person in Second Platoon for the position at this time,” Winters said coldly. “She has my full confidence that she is capable of handling the job of Platoon Sergeant."

"What about Sergeant Malarkey?" persisted Dike, offering up a tenuous solution at best. Anyone with eyes could see that Sergeant Malarkey was a wreck after losing his friends. "Or transferring one of the more experienced sergeants over from another Platoon?"

"Sergeant Buchanan has seniority over Sergeant Malarkey,” Winters overruled. “And the other platoons need their sergeants where they are. Buchanan knows the men in Second. My decision stands. Sergeant Buchanan is just as capable as any of the other sergeants out here, Lieutenant, and you will treat her as such. Am I understood, Lieutenant?” Winters asked sternly.

"Yes, sir," said Dike, meekly backing down.

Winters hoped that would be the end of that.

"Is there anything else?" asked Winters.

"No, sir."

"Good, then see to your men. Distribute whatever ammunition we have left evenly amongst the platoons. First Sergeant Lipton will be leading Second in the attack tomorrow. I want to meet with you to go over the strategy again before the attack starts at 0900."

"Yes, sir," said Dike with a salute.

Winters gave him one back, and said, "Dismissed."

Nixon came over as soon as the man had gone out of earshot, eyebrow already raised in sardonic amusement. "Well that went well. I don't think there'll be any more of that for a while," he said.

"Let’s hope so," said Winters. “I don’t like it, Nix.”

“Neither do I,” his friend agreed. “But there’s nothing you can do, Dick. You’re not in charge of Easy anymore. Ev’ll just have to change his mind the way she did everyone else’s.”

“Yeah,” said Winters pensively remembering how Ev had turned a man who’d nearly broken her shoulder, a man who’d stirred up animosities towards her, and a man who’d hated her on sight into three of her most steadfast protectors.

If Dike had an open mind, Winters was sure Ev could do it again. It was just a matter of time.

They just had to survive this attack on Foy first. And if Dike was doubting the leadership of the Toccoa guys, it didn’t bode well for his first foray in leading Easy Company into battle.

With a resigned sigh, Winters put the confrontation from his mind and turned back to the topographical map of the area to run through the plan with Nixon one more time.

-

The next morning, just before the attack on Foy, Lip pulled Eve aside.

"I spoke with Winters last night,” he said, shaking his head at the question on her face. “We both knew there was nothing he could do, Ev.”

She looked down. The pit in her stomach that was ever-present before walking into an attack sank to her toes. It felt like doom.

She pushed the thought aside. It would not help her survive the fight ahead, and she had to survive for the sake of her men.

Lip gripped her arm in comfort. “I'll be leading Second Platoon. I want you with me."

"Yes, sir," she said, pleased they weren't being foisted onto some green Lieutenant for this. Lip would at least lead the men sensibly.

“Are the men ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I think there are a few more boxes of ammo at the supply tent. Make sure you distribute it to the men?”

“You got it, Lip,” Eve agreed with a smile.

Eve had already memorized the plan, but she mentally reviewed it once more as she wandered amongst Second Platoon distributing Lip’s ammo and her own reassurances.

To get to Foy, Easy Company had to cross the open field they'd been staring down on for the last week. It was only an eighth-of-a-mile, and in any other scenario, an eighth-of-a-mile was a miniscule distance for Easy Company, used to twenty-mile forced marches.

But this was different.

For this sprint, they'd be completely exposed with no adequate cover until they hit the town. The town that they’d watched the Krauts fortify for days.

Eve was uneasy – particularly about the sprint across open ground – but it was Winters's plan and he'd earned her trust several times over.

And really, Winters had planned it out pretty well, giving Easy ample time to cross the field and take the town, fortified or not. Item Company from Third Battalion was going to attack the town from the east to provide a diversion. Hopefully, they would keep the Krauts distracted and draw their artillery fire. Dog was being held in reserve in case it all went belly up – but Eve didn't actually foresee needing them unless the shit really hit the fan.

But it didn't really matter how well the rest of the plan had been laid out. It would all be for naught if they couldn't get across the field before the Krauts recalibrated their guns. If that happened, well, a lot of Easy Company men would die.

As she made her way through her Platoon, she eyed the remaining replacements.

The losses they'd suffered in the shellings over the last few days had demanded yet another shuffle of personnel, and once again, Eve found herself with green-as-grass replacements making up the majority of the squad she’d be leading.

There were some bonuses. She'd still – and it was getting a bit ridiculous really – managed to hold onto Jackson, which had thrilled the private. She'd also inherited Babe from Toye's squad and gained the invaluable Cobb from Bull's.

Eve and Cobb had had problems in the past, mostly when he was drinking. Cobb was a mean drunk, becoming supercilious and generally unpleasant as opposed to violent. But he was still one of the most experienced soldiers in the entire Battalion. Overall, the man was a damn good soldier, and a superb shot.

She was honestly just glad she had at least one Toccoa veteran still with her, and so when she found Cobb staring pensively out at Foy, she gave him a smile and crouched down next to him.

"Hey, Cobb," she said, startling him out of whatever deep thoughts had lured him into his head. "How're you doin'?"

"Good," he said, clearing his throat, "I'm good."

"I'm really glad you're with me today, Cobb," she said, examining the task before them again.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as the silence dragged on. He looked stunned. It took him a beat longer to respond with a nod, all other responses he'd probably discarded as inappropriate.

She cleared her throat, fighting back the cough, and spoke again. "You got the plan?"

"Yep," he said, his normal bite back in his tone. He busied his hands with his weapon, checking the cartridges.

"I'm going to be counting on you to help me keep these kids in order. Just remember that the priority is getting into Foy and cover."

He smiled then, snapping the first round of his magazine into place with the bolt action on his Tommy gun. "You got it, Boss Lady," he said.

Eve eyed the weapon for a moment before asking, "You got enough ammo for that?"

It was a standard gun, but because it took special cartridges and was a favorite for guys favoring power over precision, finding ammo for it had become a constant struggle.

"You know where I can get more?"

Eve thought about it and thought about the supplies guys, thinking of each man before eventually discarding him as unlikely. Finally, she remembered Vest.

Vest was the poor bastard who'd been stuck with the job of delivering mail since Toccoa. Somewhere along the lines he'd become the guy to talk to if you needed something, whether it was regulation or not. But he'd need a bribe.

"If you hurry, you can check with Vest by the CP before we go," suggested Eve.

Cobb nodded and stood to go.

Eve called out before he got too far, having been too busy digging through her pockets to keep him from wandering away halfcocked. "He'll need a bribe!" she called and tossed him the pack of cigarettes she'd been saving for a similar occasion.

The pack smacked the man in the chest, but he managed to get his hands up to catch the precious cigarettes before they fell and the snow ruined them.

Seeing what they were, Cobb gave her a large grin that lightened his whole demeanor. "Thanks, Boss Lady!" he called as he hurried to find Vest. She wondered if all the cigarettes would make it to the supply officer, or if Cobb would hold a few back for himself.

She shook her head and moved on to talk to the other guys in the platoon, offering so many platitudes that the guys' faces all started blurring together. She tried to hold the new names in her mind, but this was the sixth Smith she'd had to learn a face for since the war began, and the names and stories slipped away from her like water in a sieve to muddle together immediately after she'd moved on.

When talking to the replacements, she accentuated the need for everyone to stick to formation and keep moving. The priority was crossing the field to cover. She tempered this with reassurances, boiling down to variations of, "You'll be fine. Just do your job and you'll be fine."

She was well aware that she was lying to some of them, but what else could she do? They were as ready for this as they could be.

Eventually she found herself at odds, with nothing left to do but wait with Lip for the command to advance.

She did so anxiously, strangely more nervous about this attack than she'd been for the drop into Normandy. There, at least, she was too green to really know how short the odds were. It had helped that she'd jumped with the absolute knowledge that every last man she'd landed with she could trust her life to.

She had none of the calm that had settled over her for that jump today. Her eyes restlessly drifted between the town below and the men around her.

Their machine guns opened up from either side of the Company in covering fire and the sprint for Foy began.

Eve was up and running immediately, shouting: "Let's go, Second Platoon!" as she herded her men forward.

Her eyes flicked over her men, making sure everyone was moving out as quickly as they possibly could, making sure the stragglers were coming along, forcing them to join the forward moving unit. She stayed in the middle of the group where she needed to be, rather than charging ahead and leading the way.

It seemed like only seconds before the Krauts were pouring on the heat from their heavy guns. 88s and tank fire made the ground buckle and jump out from under her feet. She yanked on a man who'd stumbled, towing him forward until he found his feet and kept moving, racing to make up lost time.

The sooner they hit the town, the sooner they'd get to cover. Eve just had to keep everybody moving and organized. It was like herding stray cats, albeit ones inclined to head in a particular direction.

Guys fell on either side of her, pinged by snipers and enemy machine gun fire. "DON'T STOP!" she yelled, voice going hoarse as she stressed her already strained voice to yell above the popping guns and earth shattering bombardment.

"GO! GO!" she insisted, as the Krauts started raining blasts from their heavy guns. 88s and tank fire shook the ground beneath her feet, sending some soldiers to the ground. She grabbed a man who fell in front of her and pulled him forward until he found his feet.

"KEEP MOVING!" She screamed herself completely hoarse, and then lowered her register and bellowed some more, as some of the guys in front slowed down now that they were under direct fire, moving more cautiously.

Out of nowhere, Dike screamed, "HOLD UP!" Eve immediately froze and turned about to engage the enemy Dike had spotted. There could be no other reason to stop the attack, not while they were still out in the open.

Seeing nothing, and putting it down to a battlefield illusion, she kept moving, waving her arm to usher the men behind her onwards since she could no longer effectively cajole them with her voice.

She figured she was correct about it being a figment of her imagination as she both saw and heard Lip bellowing from behind her to keep moving.

"EASY COMPANY!" Dike bellowed; there was no mistaking it this time. "HOLD UP!"

"SECOND PLATOON, HOLD UP!" Lip echoed, holding his fist up in the hand signal to hold tight.

Eve dropped to the ground, the sharp ice digging into her skin through her pants.

"HOLD UP!" she echoed. Her head swiveled, trying to take account of where everyone was, scanning the platoon for holdouts. There weren't any. The men had obeyed; the smarter ones were already looking for concealment to get out of view from the artillery gunners.

The majority of her Platoon hadn't made a dash for cover. They stayed on their bellies, trying to make themselves into the smallest targets possible.

She had to find Lieutenant Dike and figure out what the hell was going on.

She set about trying to account for her guys and her commander. Her mouth ran through curses absently as her voice dropped in and out, on its last leg.

She spent longer than she should ever have to searching for Dike. Winters had always been right up front when he led, leading the charge all the way. Dike had somehow managed to disappear yet again, this time in the fray of soldiers attacking the town.

When she concluded that he was nowhere to be seen, she found Lip.

He was on her eight o’clock, flagging the still running men down to the ground and making sure everyone had obeyed.

A mortar shot – zeroed in on her squad – erupted twenty feet in front of her, showering her with dirt and black snow. Ice dug into her cheekbones and the metallic flavor of gunpowder bit into her tongue as she was flung into the dirt. Her helmet slammed painfully back onto her head, rattling her for a moment.

She shook the pain away and tried to scream, "Get to some cover!" but her voice disappeared as she tried to pitch it for the men to hear. She gave it up as a lost cause and scrambled to find herself some cover, hoping the men would follow her example.

Fortunately, Lip was yelling loud enough for them both. "FIND SOME COVER!" he bellowed, shooing guys out of the open from his position on his knees.

"FIND SOME COVER! FIND SOME COVER!" Lip screamed again and again as the 88s hammered the exposed Easy Company, landing amongst the men and sending several unfortunate soldiers flying through the air in pieces.

Eve belly crawled forward. The powder fine icicles wedged themselves into even the tiniest gap in her clothes as she waded through the snow.

She finally hit the cover she'd scouted, some farm equipment abandoned mid plow, now covered in a thick layer of snow. Cautiously, she peeked around it to take in the scene again.

If there was incoming enemy infantry hitting them, she still couldn't see them – which was all together worse news. If they were hiding, they could start opening up at any moment. If they weren't, then all of Easy Company was holding, with their ass out, in an open field for no Goddamn reason.

Lip called Perry to his six and took off, presumably to find Dike and get some orders.

Eve watched them go as she flinched from yet another artillery blast. She wanted to go with them to find out the reasoning behind the halt, but she damn well knew better than to abandon her platoon out in the open.

Eve stayed where she was needed, scanning the ground for stranded guys she could help.

She watched as the few men able to find their feet ran for it, becoming quick casualties to the enemy snipers and machine gun fire and the terrible realization of the inevitable sank in.

They were helpless, stranded.

There was no cover, there was no moving. Hope and prayer was all that was keeping her from becoming one of the poor bastards flung into the air and landing as mincemeat.

She'd thought lying in a foxhole was the worst thing that could ever happen to a person in war. She revised that belief.

This was hell on earth.

Eve’s eyes darted around the field, desperate for a solution as men fell around her like dominos.

Her eyes found Cobb, hauling a replacement back towards a hay mound, the kid flailing and generally making everything much harder for the veteran. She'd bet two cartons of cigarettes that Cobb was growling and snarling at the idiot.

Eve flinched as the replacement Cobb was dragging was shot out from under him, his blood gushing into the air.

She hadn't been sure she could feel horror anymore.

Cobb dutifully carried the corpse back to concealment, grim-faced at the turn of events.

The next familiar faces she found were Jackson and Babe, who had ended up crouched together behind some stacked fence posts. She watched Babe try to peek over the top, to see if he could get a shot somehow. She could see him duck down as dirt kicked up behind him in what could've been a fatal headshot had the Irish kid been just a hair slower.

Jackson, smart bastard that he was, didn't even bother trying to get a shot off over the pile. He crouched down and waited for orders to move forward.

An advantage generally left unobserved until middle of an advance, is that of blending into the crowd. If there were a lot of targets to shoot at, sure the Krauts had better odds of hitting people, but there were also better odds of it not being her.

The constant bombardment, the waiting for orders, went on forever. There was nothing she could do but wait, and it gnawed at her.

They were stuck here. She was going to die here.

Desperation turned her fear into determination.

Becoming bold in her desperation to just be able to do something, she peaked over her concealment, trying to see where muzzle flashes were in the town.

She immediately took note of the building with the caved in roof and tried to nail the sniper holed up in there, but she just couldn't get the right angle to hit the man, much to her frustration. The church steeple was equally as frustrating as her bullets kept nailing the white grate surrounding the machine gun nest.

The ping of metal on metal and a hot scorch across her cheek made her gasp in surprise as she fell back, thankfully into cover. She blinked a few times, coming face to face with how very close she'd been to reaching out and colliding with her demise.

She came up snarling mad. She was not going to fucking die out here like a fish in a barrel. She got into a prone position, sighting her M-1 through a gap in the farm equipment and aimed for an easier target, picking off the scurrying, white-dressed German infantry as they scampered between buildings.

She didn't even notice how much ammo she snapped through, grateful that she’d stocked up as she slammed the next cartridge in the last's place and lining up shots. She spared only a few seconds on each shot, making sure her bullet would hit a Kraut, shooting on instinct.

Each one she nailed was its own victory, symbolic of her refusal to lie down passively for death. But every shot she made, encouraged the Krauts to aim for her.

Eve found herself targeted by shell after shell of mortar fire as the heavy guns tried to take out her concealment. She flinched as clumps of dirt showered her, the shots narrowing in on her position.

She tried to scream, but her voice had long since gone.

To her left, Babe and Jackson opened up, trying to give the Krauts another option to fire at, to remind them that the rest of Easy Company wasn't going to go quietly either.

Something shifted again. The guns turned their attention elsewhere.

When Eve was able to rally herself enough to take stock of the situation, she wished she hadn't.

She could only watch the disaster unfold as First, stranded and alone, tried to execute a flanking mission.

Flanking missions didn't work if the flankers could be outflanked.

Adding to the confusion were Lip and Dike's orders for suppressing fire.

It was a terrible idea to have suppressing fire on a flanking mission. The suppressing fire could slam right into the flanking team. They ran the risk of shooting First rather than the enemy.

The whole idea was insane. And it certainly hadn't been in the plan Captain Winters had laid out.

And then the ugly situation became worse. As the enemy fire that had pinned First down from the original attack plan wasn't dealt with, they were still stuck. Only now, they were dangling out from the safety of the line, and stuck.

It was a disaster.

Eve had to force herself not to do something stupid – like pop up and run to First's aid – as she saw man after man fall in the hail of bullets from the Krauts in Foy, especially from the snipers nest tucked away in the building with the caved in roof.

At least Lip was aware of the danger. He started yelling to focus on that building. Eve joined the other men in trying to rain down so much lead on the position that the sniper wouldn't be able to twitch let alone fire again.

Eve found herself muttering curses again under her breath as she tried to ignore First’s plight, now towing their wounded back to cover.

They were all going to die out here. Dike's leadership was going to kill them all.

She’d been right.

She’d never been so sorry to be right.

Suddenly, the building with the caved in roof went up in flames. Eve grinned in triumph before moving on to spot the next deadliest target. She nailed the bricks of the bell tower of the church, praying she'd hit one of the MG operators.

She was so caught up in the moment that she nearly missed the sudden forward movement all around her.

"- Second Platoon on the CO!" Lip shouted, following a sprinting figure.

_Thank God._

Eve didn’t care who the CO was, couldn’t recognize him from this distance, but she got to her feet and started sprinting after him.

"Move! Get up and fucking move!" Eve yelled, not caring that her voice only managed every third word. She didn't even slow down as she snagged men and towed them forwards, forcing them to run.

She yanked whomever's jacket happened to be in her hand until the man in it managed to get his feet under him. Only when he’d stopped stumbling did she let him go and grab the next one who happened to be on her way.

Sure enough, the replacements followed her example and started towing their comrades forward until the entire Platoon was moving once again towards Foy and solid cover.

She kept hearing Lip screaming behind her, trying to coax the rest of the guys up and moving, and poured on some more speed as she sprinted forward, leading the men onwards.

She slammed through the miniscule barbed wire fences that line the town, running roughshod through the barriers with relative ease. She certainly had enough motivation to get off the field.

Eve had always been one of the faster soldiers in Easy. Once all of her soldiers managed to get their shit together and keep moving, she ate up the ground between her and the running CO, catching him easily.

She stuck to him as they bounded through the last bit of the field desperate to hit Foy and the cover its urban terrain provided from artillery fire.

She was right on his six and thus nearly smacked into him when he did an improbable backbend to avoid an incoming tank round. He looked around for a beat before plowing on forward. There was a cacophony of screaming behind her, the words no more than a muffled outcry as Easy Company finally surged into Foy.

The CO hit the first building they found, Eve only half a beat behind him, recognizing the man finally.

It was Lieutenant Speirs.

 _Thank God for that_ , she thought, grateful someone with sense was finally in charge of the company.

"Radio! Get over here!" called Speirs, spying Luz. Eve hadn't even noticed the man dogging their trail and barely spared him any mind now.

She dropped into a kneeling crouch and went back to picking off the Krauts in the open.

Lip joined them just a moment after Luz, taking position next to Eve. He pulled her back with a hand on her shoulder to take his own assessment of the enemy.

A blast of MG fire shattered the corner.

Some of the Krauts must have cottoned on to Eve’s hiding place and the death that was emanating from there.

Lip jerked back with a wince.

There was a moment of stunned surprise as Lip curled up to protect his injury and Eve, after a deep breath to center herself, whipped around and fired the last three rounds in her clip into the backs of the retreating Krauts.

"You okay?" she shouted, trying to be heard despite her disappearing voice and the continuing bombardment as she pulled back into cover to reload.

"What?" shouted Lip, not able to hear her properly, but he was curled up protecting his face with his hand first and then his entire body.

She worried that if she stopped to check on him, the Krauts would take the opportunity to hit the building again, possibly with something a little bigger than MG fire and wipe them all out.

"What do you see, Lipton?" bellowed Speirs, not even realizing that he was interrupting.

Eve took another deep breath, trying to re-center herself, before she bent around the corner, lined up another shot, and nailed another Kraut.

"Armored infantry, a lot of infantry!" said Lip, reporting what he'd glimpsed, and then leaning out again around Eve to confirm.

If Lip and Speirs had a conversation after that, Eve didn't hear it as she fell into the trance that sometimes overtook her when she was shooting. The rifle was suddenly more like a limb than a tool and she fired again and again, automatically, without the slightest hitch or hesitation as she reloaded her gun and knocked Kraut after Kraut dead.

Lip’s screaming pulled her out of it. "Sir, I think they're going to pull back. If we don't connect with I Company, they're gonna slip away!"

"That's right," said Speirs, shouting to be heard. He patted Lip on the knee in reassurance and then Eve on the shoulder in warning. "Stay here!" he ordered and darted out into the line of fire.

Eve only just managed to register his intention and pull up her gun before she put a round in her new CO's back, cursing.

"What the hell?" asked Luz, echoing Eve's thoughts so perfectly that she didn't even bother to put hers to words.

The three of them behind the wall shared a look before unanimously crowding the corner to watch as their CO fearlessly bounded through the enemy's line.

Horrified, she went back to picking off what infantry she could, giving the Krauts a more lucrative target. She tried to nail some of the artillery gunners especially, but infantrymen immediately took their place.

All the while, she tried to comprehend what was happening right in front of her.

Somehow, the Germans weren't shooting at Speirs. He made it through their line practically unaccosted.

It was the strangest, most miraculous thing she'd ever seen, bar none.

She tracked the man as he disappeared behind a stone fence, picking off any who dared aim that way instead of at her.

It was absolutely amazing. But what happened next completely flabbergasted her.

Speirs came _back_ through the line to Easy's position.

It was unbelievable. She was witnessing it and she still couldn't believe it. She traded dumbfounded glances with Lip and Luz, thankful they were seeing it too and it wasn't some grand hallucination or her mind playing tricks on her.

Hands down it was the craziest thing she'd ever seen. Speirs was one stupid, crazy, son-of-a-gun.

Somehow, her brain stopped filtering what popped out of her mouth because suddenly she said, "What was that about Hitler's mustache, Lip?" She'd half formed the sentence before she realized she was even speaking.

Fortunately, he was in the same state of shock that she was.

He laughed, Luz joining a beat behind and suddenly the three of them were laughing, nearly sobbing in relief.

It was finally over. They'd taken Foy.

-

Eve and the rest of Easy Company worked on cleaning out the houses of Germans who'd stayed behind to surrender. She'd paired up with Babe for the sweep.

I Company was posing for the newsreels on one of the captured 88s. She could hear them singing through the thin windowpane as she and Babe mounted the stairway, she on point and Babe behind.

There was an open doorway just in front of them. She glanced backwards at Babe, who gave her a nod. She took a deep breath and then popped around the corner, gun up and ready to fire. She'd prepared herself for Germans, but _three_ of them was a surprise.

"Hands!" she shouted. "Let me see your hands!"

One Kraut scrambled for his gun. Babe came from behind her, aggressively holding his M1 out, screaming, "Hey! Hey! Don't even think about it, pal!"

Eve kept an eye on the two other Krauts, who'd seen sense and thrown their hands up immediately, shouting unintelligibly in German.

The Kraut who'd tried to arm himself dropped the weapon and threw his hands up too, surrendering to them without further fuss.

" _Aus_!" she barked. She'd heard Liebgott say it often enough when clearing houses to figure it meant 'out!' or something close to it. " _Aus_! _Schnell_!"

One Kraut, the man who'd managed to coax his weapon happy friend to disarm, took her commands to mean that she could speak German and started talking to her, rattling off a stream of German so rapidly that she couldn't pick out anything.

"Shut up!" barked Babe, unnerved by the noise.

The man didn't stop talking, obviously not understanding Babe either, but kept his hands up and his body language submissive.

Eve gave up on the language and gave a sharp jerk with her M1 at the door. The Krauts obeyed, flowing single file from the room with Babe, and then Eve, at their backs.

The sharp snap of a gunshot had her throwing herself to into the wall, gun up.

"HEY!" she shouted at the flinching Germans. The Krauts had been only half a second away from trying to use the sound as a distraction for escape. When the second bullet sounded, they found their own common sense and threw themselves away from the windows.

The singing outside had stopped. Someone screamed, "Sniper!" while another voice shouted: "Take cover!"

There was a string of gunfire that followed. If Eve had to guess, her money would be that the enemy sniper had decided to get one perfect shot and then kill as many as he could once he'd revealed himself.

The Germans had their hands covering their heads and were babbling again; scared the Americans holding them would suddenly go crazy and start shooting them in retaliation.

"Babe," said Eve, "you got ‘em?"

"Yeah, Sarge," the man answered, his entire focus on the Krauts in case they tried to do anything stupid.

"Good," said Eve as she approached the window overlooking the main street. "I'm gonna see if I can't figure out what the hell is going on."

"You got it," said Babe.

She took in the empty street and the abandoned 88, scanning the upper buildings she could see for muzzle flashes that would give away the sniper's position.

And then some idiot broke cover and ran directly into the line of fire. Eve cringed and must have sworn aloud based on Babe's immediate response of, "What? What is it?"

Lip was making a suicide run across the square. The sniper took a shot and she finally narrowed down his nest to the right building. She took a deep breath and flinched as the enemy took another shot at the now weaving Lip.

A second shot sounded just after the last and the sniper went silent. The sound of cheering awoke. Eve followed the logical direction of the shots, and Lip’s origins, and found Shifty Powers lowering his M1, a satisfied smile on his face.

Eve breathed a sigh of relief before telling Babe, "All clear. Let's get these prisoners out of here."

It took no further coaxing to get the Germans down the stairs.

-

Eve found out later that they'd taken over a hundred prisoners at Foy.

Perconte had gotten himself shot in the ass and evacuated to medical to the rear. The Easy Company tradition was alive and well. She still laughed long and hard when she saw the small man dangling from Bull's back like a cape or something, the big man plowing determinedly on as though he didn't even feel the extra hundred odd pounds of Perconte's weight.

That night, as she looked over the smoking ruins of Foy, she took a sigh of relief, feeling like the worst was over.

-

Easy Company wasn’t taken off the line after Foy, no matter how much they might have deserved it. They were all exhausted and after everything they'd gone through – all the men they'd lost – Easy Company had been selected to join the assault on Noville.

Adding to the injustice, the Brass had planned for the attack to take place at noon.

“At least we aren’t laying siege to the place,” said Eve, thinking of the dreadful, anxiety filled wait they’d had before attacking Foy and the shellings they’d had to endure.

It didn’t make her, or anyone else, feel better.

The sun finally decided to come out the morning of the attack. The snow on the ground was knee deep.

Soon the plan came down from on high. Apparently, the plan was for Easy Company to trudge through the snow, through the half-mile open field, in full range of the German artillery and attack the town head on. At high-noon.

Suicide came to mind.

Luckily, Winters had a plan.

“If this works,” said Winters as he addressed Easy Company’s NCOs. “It should render the German advantages moot.”

The Germans had the high ground, again, and had camouflaged their tanks with Noville’s buildings and the like, in addition to their idiotic attack time, meant that things weren’t looking up for Easy Company.

Winters explained his plan.

He had to explain it again.

“We’re going to _what_?” Lieutenant Shames asked incredulously.

Eve shared a look with Malarkey.

Out of respect for the man, Eve didn’t question the Captain’s plan, despite how crazy it sounded. If it _worked_ it would be a brilliant strategy, completely unexpected, and yes, eliminating the overwhelming German advantage.

And ultimately, Eve was willing to follow Winters through hell. Following him into Noville would be a piece of cake.

Easy Company joined the rest of Second Battalion and formed one long, single-file line. This all but eliminated the impediment of the snow.

It was also extremely dangerous. One lucky hit from the Krauts could wipe out the whole battalion.

The Captain found a deep shoulder in the terrain, running parallel to their assigned approach line. He led the battalion along, Easy Company at the fore, using the ridge to help camouflage the long column as they moved forward, miraculously finding more and more cover the closer they got to the town.

Eve glanced over at First Battalion only once.

First was attacking Noville about 400 yards to Second’s left, taking direct fire from the Kraut’s 88s. Dozens of men were flung into the air at once, coming down in pieces if they weren’t completely incinerated in the blast.

They were being slaughtered.

They probably wouldn’t even be all found until spring.

The nervous knot in Eve stomach got tighter at the fate that awaited them if the Germans cottoned on to their plan. Even still, she was utterly grateful for Winters’s madcap scheme because otherwise Second would be right there being blown apart with First.

They kept moving.

Eve tried to put the constant, heavy fear of discovery to the back of her mind, focusing solely on the man in front of her, Liebgott’s, back as she tried to keep low and keep up.

It was a long tense march as they skirted their way around the southeast corner of the town, intending to attack the Krauts from the rear.

By some miracle, they managed to circle the town without being detected as darkness fell.

There was just one more hurdle: a stretch of open ground, edged with a stream, between them and a prime position to attack.

 _Brrrrrrrrrrrrt_!

Eve ducked, biting her lip to keep from screaming in terror as a German machine gun opened fire on them, peppering the front of the column as they tried to sneak across the open gap.

Winters acted quickly, setting up two of Easy’s light machine guns to provide covering fire. When the Germans fired, Winters had their guns give a return burst to cover groups, roughly eight to ten men at a time, across the open ground and the stream on the other side.

Eve waited for her turn, watching anxiously as her friends raced across the gap, holding her breath until they’d made it across. Each group that made it across safely just ratcheted up the tension that the next group wouldn’t be so lucky.

When it was her turn she took a deep breath.

Liebgott was running with her.

They could make it.

“Go!” ordered Winters.

Eve didn’t need telling twice. She ducked down and ran like hell anticipating the hot lead of a bullet searing through her with every pounding footstep.

She nearly slipped into the stream, the rocks slick under her snow caked boots.

Liebgott seized her arm as soon as she started flailing, though, and hauled her across.

Safe behind cover, she sagged. “Thanks,” she said looking up at Liebgott, who was also breathing heavily after the mad sprint.

“Anytime, Ev,” he said with a smile.

Eve was, once again, glad she had Lieb looking out for her.

When everyone had run across, they reassembled and Eve realized that somehow they had made it through the whole ordeal without a single loss or injury.

Somehow, Winters’s crazy, suicidal, scheme had saved them all.

It was some of the best leadership and tactics Eve had ever seen, let alone been a part of, and solidified her trust in Winters.

She would never question him – not even privately – again.

By dark, wringing wet with sweat and freezing in the snow, Second Battalion waited in the freezing cold to launch the final assault on Noville at dawn.

Their flanking mission was a success. For some reason, the Germans on the machine gun never managed to communicate that some of the American’s had managed to make it to the southern side of town. As a result, the Germans were still oriented to the north, where all the Allied attacks had come from for the past few days, and were completely disoriented when Second Battalion attacked from the rear.

Come dawn there was a heavy firefight before the Germans – despite having tanks and superior numbers – withdrew around noon.

Eve would remember none of it – lost as another firefight for another town with little to no actual value apart from the ever moving quest to go forward and rout the Germans – but the tactics from the night before would remain with her for the rest of her life.

-

Two days after they'd taken Noville, they learned that showers and a breather would have to wait yet again. Instead, they took the town of Rachamps, the Germans fleeing as soon as the Americans reached the village proper after moderate resistance on the approach.

Victorious, the exhausted Easy Company bunked down in Rachamps’s convent, the sisters' choir serenading them. It was the first time Eve had slept inside in over a month.

Eve took a moment and prayed. She thanked God that she'd made it, and thanked him for every single person in Easy Company who'd survived. She asked Him to watch over those who'd passed and welcome them into heaven. They badly deserved the rest and the melody was beautiful.

The mood was relaxed. They were going to be taken off the line tomorrow, they said. Back to showers and actual food. And, for tonight, they were inside.

She lay down on a pew for a few moments and closed her eyes, only to sit up and cough, hard and loudly. Damn, she’d thought her stupid cough had gone away. She lay back again, panting, and had to sit up to cough again. She tried to muffle it, but the guys around her, particularly Lieutenant Speirs sitting in front of her, turned to stare. She turned away, but she could still feel his piercing eyes on her.

Eve tried to suppress her coughing, at least while Lip was here, but after leaving her alone for most of an adrenaline filled day, the choking spasms gripped her hard now that she was resting.

Lip sat down beside her, pulling her close with a gentle arm and rubbing soothing circles into her back to calm her down. After another long minute of fighting to breathe, she collapsed against his warm chest, trying to ignore the tears no doubt lining her cheeks.

When she recovered enough to actually think about the rest of the world again, she found herself looking into the eyes of Lieutenant Speirs. "You all right there, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Sorry, Lip," she said, blinking tiredly as she leaned into him to brace herself and push backwards to sit on her own. Eve pushed him away from her gently and leaned back into the pew. _Looks like I’m sleeping sitting up tonight,_ she thought, smiling tiredly at the man.

The man took this as she meant it, and let her go. He left her to attend to their new CO. She watched their interactions through hooded eyes as exhaustion dragged at her.

Speirs looked awkward as he stuffed a paper, Lip's report, into his pocket. "I've got to get this up to Battalion before they disappear."

"Yes, sir," said Lip, eyeing the man, probably debating whether or not to try and speak with him.

Speirs caught Lip staring, "What is it?" he asked.

Lip immediately pretended he hadn't been caught out, "Nothing, sir."

Eve stopped herself from rolling her eyes. _Men_.

"You want to ask me, don't you?" said Speirs as he gathered his stuff together.

"Ask you what, sir?" said Lip with a disarming smile.

"You want to know if they're true or not, the stories about me." Lip didn't deny it. "You ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they heard it from someone who was there, but then if you ask that person, they say they heard it from someone who was there. It's nothing new really. I bet if you went back two thousand years, you'd hear a couple of Centurions standing around yakking about how Tertius lobbed off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners."

"Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it?"

"Well, maybe that's because Tertius knew there was some value in the men thinking he was the meanest toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion."

"Like keeping all his cigarettes," interjected Eve, voice pitched in as close to a whisper as her sore throat allowed.

Speirs gave her a small smile, or maybe his lip twitched, she wasn't sure in the candle light and wasn’t brave enough to call him on it either way.

"Yes," said Speirs. "And not having to deal with drunken, insubordinate, officers on duty."

"I hate drunk people," offered Eve, filter off now that her body was halfway asleep. Lip grabbed a blanket from thin air and laid it over her, tucking her in.

"Go to sleep, Sergeant Buchanan," chided Lip.

"Yes, sir," she agreed and let her head roll away from their direction. Up for trying to sleep, even if she didn’t think she’d be able to.

-

Lip turned back to Speirs to find the man watching them carefully. The man jerked his head, and Lip followed Speirs a few yards away from Ev to keep from disturbing her.

"Is she all right?”

Lip shrugged. “She’s not admitting to it, but I don’t think so.”

“How much do you know about her?”

Lip shrugged again, embarrassed this time. "A lot I think. Well enough to know that she’d say anything to stay with the men.”

He took a deep breath, his own lungs twinging in a protest that he viciously squashed. The last thing he needed was to start coughing too. “It's strange, sir, but I feel like I've gotten to know more about her in the last month than I did in the whole two years I'd known her before."

Speirs stared at Lip, so the First Sergeant tried another answer to suit the man. "Actually, sir, if there was one person with their finger on the pulse of the company it's Sergeant Buchanan. I'm not sure exactly why, or how, but she seems to know most everything about most everybody. She'd be a good person to talk to if you had any questions about what the men need."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Speirs.

"And sir, just so you know, these men aren't really concerned about the stories. They're just glad to have you as our CO. They're happy to have a good leader again."

"Including you, First Sergeant?" It felt like Speirs was assessing him.

"Yes, sir," said Lip.

"Well from what I've heard they've always had one," said Speirs, looking hard at Lip's face. "I've been told there's always been one man they could count on. Led 'em into the Bois Jacques, held 'em together when they had the crap shelled out of them in the woods. Everyday kept their spirits up. Kept the men focused, gave them direction. All the things a good combat leader does." He paused, searching for recognition on Lip's face. He seemed pleased when he didn't find any. "You don't have any idea who I'm talking about do you?"

"No, sir," said Lip. The only candidate he could think of was Ev, who'd bounced from foxhole to foxhole but Speirs had said ‘man’. Buck would have fit before he left, but if there was such a man still with them, Lip was kicking himself for not noticing him.

"Hell, it was you First Sergeant," Speirs said, cracking a grin. "Ever since Winters made Battalion, you've been the leader of Easy Company." Speirs began to walk away, but turned back quickly as a thought entered his mind. "Oh and ah, you're not going to be a first sergeant for long, First Sergeant," said Speirs with the same smile.

"Sir?" They were demoting him? After that speech?

"Winters put in for a battlefield promotion and Sink approved on your behalf. You should get the official nod in a few days. Congratulations, Lieutenant." Speirs grinned and walked away, his boots clacking loudly on the tiled floor.

Lip went back to Ev and sat down next to her, unsurprised when she leaned into his shoulder again.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant," she rasped, looking up at him with a grin. He smile down at her and ruffled her hair.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep like that, propped up on him.

Lip found that he didn’t mind at all.

-

The next morning, Eve found out that they were bound for Haganau to help hold the line instead of being pulled to the rear for a breather. It was off the front line, they were no longer spearheading the advance, but Mourmelon would have to wait again.

At least they were in trucks. She sat squished between Luz and Christenson in one up front, shoulders up to her ears as she shivered, freezing even though it wasn't snowing anymore and by all accounts the day was far warmer than it had been when they were in the woods. The draft from the slowly moving truck made her tremble. She'd kept the blanket from Lip and tried to get a bit more sleep but it was useless. Each bump and jerk the truck jolted her entire body. She already ached, but if the driver didn't take it easy, she was going to throw up. And she'd just had the first warm food she’d had in a month, thanks-very-much.

"Hey!" called Luz, scaring the shit out of her. She hadn't been paying attention to him, or what he was talking about with Lip. “Hey!” he called again to the men outside the truck.

"Whadda ya want?" one of the guys walking below shouted back.

Eve spared them a glance, First Battalion.

"Yeah, thanks for crapping in our foxholes, ya shitheads," grumbled Luz

"Hey, it was our pleasure!" the man saluted.

"Enjoy the walk boys!" taunted Bull from across from her.

Eve's laugh turned into a cough. Christenson pounded her on the back. She leaned over the side of the truck to spit out the goop in her mouth and caught sight of Luz giving Lip a cigarette. _Huh_ , she thought. _When did that happen?_ As far as Eve knew, Lip didn't smoke. Something must've changed. 

"There they go!" she heard one of the First Battalion guys say, "Easy Company, riding out again."

 _That's right,_ she thought. _Here we go again._

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Breaking Point. Thank you for reading, I know it was a long one. All my love to those of you who left kudos, and a huge hug to those who left a comment. They really mean the world to me. Updates are still scheduled for every Thursday. See you then!


	41. Blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company took Foy, Noville and Rachamps before being pulled from the attacking force after many devastating losses in the Battle of the Bulge.
> 
> "The challenge of leadership is to be strong, but not rude; be kind, but not weak; be bold, but not bully; be thoughtful, but not lazy; be humble, but not timid; be proud, but not arrogant; have humor, but without folly." —Jim Rohn
> 
> Now: Eve gets sicker as Easy Company moves to the town of Haguenau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Atman and Laura001 helped tidy this up. Big thanks to them. All remaining errors are mine.

-Chapter 41-

There was no avoiding it, Eve was getting sicker. It was frustrating. Especially when she thought she’d been on the mend. She’d barely coughed during the attack on Foy and not at all when they’d hit Noville or Rachamps. And yet, despite being off the line and getting a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in a month, she felt exhausted.

The penicillin she’d gotten from Roe didn’t seem to have worked – and honestly she was getting a bit scared because it should’ve worked by now – or perhaps it had worked and she’d just caught something else instead. It was as though her body had decided it could afford to crash, and crash hard, now that she'd stopped running it so ragged. Her cough had come back with a vengeance, viciously accompanied by chills, nausea, and a nagging headache. Every cough caused her abdomen to clench and ache like she’d sub in as Joe Louis’s punching bag, clawing it’s way past her raw throat – burning like she’d swallowed a hot poker that no amount of water could sooth, even trying was misery in and of itself. She could barely eat, it hurt so bad, and what she could choke down, she mostly vomited back up.

The rain didn’t help. When it rained, it poured, and all their raincoats had been abandoned long ago. The temperatures had definitely gotten warmer, but instead of this being good, her boots had given up completely and her feet were always soaked. Her reinforced clothing hadn’t dried out in weeks and clung to her like frozen weights. Because Eve’s clothes were thicker than everyone else’s, they took longer to dry. She was wet and miserable.

Not wanting to worry the men, she hid her symptoms. She told the guys that she wasn't hungry to hide the nausea. She passed off chills as general shivering, mourning the loss of warmth that bled out of her with every forced vibration in her soggy clothes. And, well, there was nothing she could really do about the wretched cough but endure, but everyone was coughing these days so she blended in.

She didn't think the other guys had noticed, but for some reason every time she woke up she was swaddled in blankets and sandwiched between Liebgott and whomever he'd roped into helping him.

She didn't tell him off for it, though she knew she should. Officially, it was because she knew it wouldn't do any good, but really she couldn't make herself ask him to stop. For the briefest moment, between sleeping and waking, she almost felt warm before the chills and aches started again. It took her quite a while to work up the energy to unwrap herself and get up every day, but she had duties to attend to, so she forced her body to obey.

Liebgott was bound to be suspicious that she wasn’t complaining – but she just wasn't strong enough to deny herself the smallest seconds of comfort before misery encompassed her day. Despite her certainty that he knew she was worse off than she tried to pretend, he didn't mention it within her hearing. She hoped he was too relieved that she wasn't putting up a fuss to dig any deeper and just leave it alone.

It really wasn’t that bad, certainly nothing to make a fuss over.

-

"Didn't you give her any of that penicillin you got from Patton?" Liebgott demanded, cornering Roe as the medic stood in line for chow.

Roe glared at him. "Of course I did."

"Well it ain't workin'. She was coughin' and shakin' all night," said Lieb bitterly. "She didn't even complain about me 'mollycoddlin' her this mornin'!"

Roe frowned, worried. "I'll take a look," he promised and, grabbing a cup of something that was supposed to be coffee, went to find Ev.

It only took him an hour to find her. The woman was huddled under a tree, looking wet and miserable. He took a moment to look her over with Liebgott’s concerns in mind and became even more concerned himself. There were dark rings lining glassy eyes and a pallid pallor to her skin. She looked worse after a good night’s sleep, not better.

Almost without noticing, he found himself in front of his friend and pressing the still, barely, warm mug into her hands.

She smiled gratefully up and drank it under his worried eye.

 _Liebgott was right. She’s not getting better_ , Roe thought, watching his friend shiver and cough feebly into her hand. _And I don’t have any more penicillin to give her._

-

Somehow, Eve wasn't surprised when Gene tracked her down and handed her a mug full of steaming brew. She gave a sigh, carefully keeping the stuttering breathing from turning into a full cough, as the liquid soothing the burning in her throat. She tried to let the residual heat seep into her bones.

Gene had a scared, worried look in his eye, so she smiled gratefully at him, trying to be reassuring. The affect was somewhat ruined, she felt, by the cough that clawed its way free from her throat, heaping misery on her already abused muscles.

From his deepening frown, she didn't think it had worked at all.

 _Damn_. She hated worrying Gene.

"You keep warm today, Sergeant, you hear?" he scolded when she handed him back the mug. His frown turned into a scowl as she began to cough in earnest, no longer able to hold it back.

She tried to smother it, but she couldn't stop coughing.

Eve was so focused on trying to breathe – terrified gasps eeking their way around each body wracking cough – she barely noticed Roe as he flew into motion, wrapping an arm around her back to support her as her body heaved and struggled, desperately trying to draw in breath. She sagged against him, body bowed and rigid, tears rolling down her cheeks in hot rivers fear overwhelming her with each progressive cough.

Through it all, Gene held on, murmuring something she couldn’t hear or understand into her hair as she coughed and gagged and eventually vomited up all the coffee he'd just got into her.

The vomiting stopped the coughing.

Eve finally sagged as her body rapidly drew in sharp gasps of precious air, and spat out the last of the bile that lingered in her mouth in contempt, fed up with the whole business of being sick.

She was grateful that Gene pretended not to see the fresh, frightened tears as she swilled and spit some water from her canteen. She tried to discretely wipe her eyes, but she knew the Cajun saw.

Gene always saw too much.

"Keep warm, you got it, Gene," she said hoarse, but finally under control as she fought to act normally. "I've gotta go make sure the supplies is stowed away." _And get away from those prying Cajun eyes_ , she thought.

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a voice calling Eve’s name. He gave her badly disguised relief, probably written all over her face, a dark scowl. Eve made her escape and went to see what the man who’d called her wanted.

-

Gene frowned as Ev all but ran away from him.

He didn’t like the sound of her coughing fit, or that she’d vomited afterwards. Frankly, it had been terrifying, watching her cough and cough without being able to help. He’d rather make her get some rest, but there was nothing for it. Ev never sit still when someone needed her. Plus, there was no guarantee that she would actually listen to him and take it easy for a while until she was feeling better.

Maybe Lipton could make Ev see some sense.

That in mind, Roe set off to find the man. It didn’t take him too long. Lipton and Captain Speirs – he only remembered Speirs had been recently promoted when he saw the new double bars the on the man's lapel – were talking.

"… Who would you recommend for First Sergeant?" Roe heard Speirs ask.

"I would suggest Sergeant Buchanan for the position, sir, or maybe Sergeant Talbert," Lipton answered.

"She's who I had in mind," agreed Speirs.

Lipton nodded, but started coughing into his fist before he could actually answer.

Roe, who'd been loitering, waiting for an opportunity to speak, could hear the man's wet sounding cough from five feet away and hurried over.

"You all right there, First Sergeant Lipton?" he asked when he reached the man, worried.

Lipton tried to speak but was too congested and coughed a few more times, spitting out a big green gob of phlegm.

"All right," said Roe, trying to sooth the man. "Let me hear that cough."

Lipton could do nothing else but cough and the longer Roe listened, the less he liked what he heard.

Roe felt the man's forehead, which was too hot, and then asked, "Okay, Sergeant, could you take a deep breath for me?"

Lipton tried, but started coughing before he could get a breath deep enough.

Roe put his ear to Lipton's back, and listened in concern as the chest beneath his ear crackled, going over a mental checklist of what might be wrong with the man until there was only one answer left.

"Sounds like you've got pneumonia, Sergeant," Roe informed the men.

Lipton looked startled. "Can't be," he protested. "It's not that bad a cough."

"I'm afraid it is," insisted Roe. "You should probably go to an aid station."

"We're moving out for Haguenau soon. Aid station's packing up to move as we speak," said Speirs, worried. "Will he be okay for the ride there? Can he wait for us to get to Haguenau or should I call a jeep for him?"

Roe looked at Lipton closely. He didn't think Lipton had been sick too long, but there'd been so many guys coming up to him right after Foy about their feet or a cough that he might've just missed Lipton in the influx. "He should be okay, I think," said Roe. "But when he gets there, he should find a bed and rest."

"You got it, Doc," said Speirs a look in his eye that Roe took to mean that Speirs could be trusted to enforce his commands, especially ones that involved the health of his former First Sergeant.

Regardless, Roe knew Lipton wasn’t the kind of man who let illness keep him off his feet, and well, with pneumonia, that might well kill him. Lipton was too good an officer to waste like that, so he'd make damn sure Lipton got the rest he needed to get better.

Speirs turned to his First Sergeant. "You're riding with me into Haguenau," he informed the man. "We'll find you a bed in the CP; they're always sticking officers in the warmest houses. That all right, Doc?"

Roe, surprised at being addressed again, nodded. "Just be sure you actually rest, First Sergeant. Pneumonia ain’t somethin’ to take lightly."

"You got it, Doc," said Lipton. "Is there something you need?" He asked when Roe lingered.

Roe gave Speirs a glance, not entirely sure he should divulge about Ev’s illness in light of Lipton’s, let alone in front of their new Captain, but not seeing any other choice at this point.

"Sir, after we were relieved in Bastogne, I gave Sergeant Buchanan a dose of penicillin. It hasn't kicked in yet."

Lipton looked concerned. “Any idea what it is? She didn’t sound too good in Rachamps."

"No," admitted Roe, feeling ashamed that his medical knowledge was so limited on this point. "I thought it was the cough that had been going around in the woods, but it's not looking that way if she’s still sick."

"What do you want to do, Doc?" asked Speirs.

"I was hoping you'd be able to convince her to take it easy for a while," said Roe, directing the query at Lipton.

"I'll see what I can do," Lipton answered after exchanging a glance with Speirs.

Speirs shrugged. "Have Sergeant Buchanan report to the CP when we reach Haguenau, we'll see if we can't find a bed there for her too."

Roe looked at Speirs, surprised, but let a small smile of relief slip onto his face. "I'll do that, sir. Thank you."

"Better load up, Doc. Trucks are about to leave," said Lipton.

"Yes, Sergeant," said Roe, hurrying away.

-

Just as Eve was about to hop into Second Platoon's truck bound for Haguenau, Captain Speirs pulled her aside.

Eve went with him easily, unsure what he wanted, and highly aware that they might be holding up the entire Battalion for this chat.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, looking at his face intently, as though what he wanted would be spelled out there for her to read.

Speirs eyed her. "Doc says you're sick, Sergeant," he informed her. "When we arrive in Haguenau, I want you to report to the CP. We'll see if we can't find you a bed there."

"Thank you, sir, but I'd rather stay with my men," she said mutinously, suddenly understanding why Roe hadn't been pestering her all morning. He was like a dog with bone when he thought someone wasn't taking care of themselves. She'd almost expected to be hounded by him all day. Instead he'd been ratting her out to Speirs.

And then there was what Speirs was actually telling her. He was making an exception for her by putting her in the CP. She'd never accepted a handout in all her time in the army, and she certainly wasn't going to start now. She didn't like the message it would send to the men under her. It made her uncomfortable.

"That's an order, Sergeant."

Eve looked at Speirs, trying to see if she might be able to change his mind.

He smiled at her, daring her to try it.

Eve didn’t take him up on it.

"Yes, sir," she said instead, bowing out gracefully.

"I'll see you there," he confirmed and then turned to find the jeep he was sharing with Lip, Winters, and Nixon.

Eve watched him go and figured that he'd forget. Captain Speirs was a very busy man and, well, she certainly wasn't going to remind him. She'd stick with her unit until he called her to the CP. She might even get away with not having to go at all.

She made her way back to the truck and accepted the hand Liebgott offered. He towed her into the truck-bed with a grin.

Eve settled into the bench between him and Babe with a groan of relief as her aching joints finally relaxed. She accepted the blanket Liebgott wedged around her, and then glared at Jackson when he added another blanket over the first.

Babe smirked and made a show of tucking the second one around her too.

With a roll of her eyes, Eve leaned back against the planks of wood that served as a backrest and tried to drift off, hoping the warmth from the blankets over her front would overwhelm the draft tickling the back of her neck and the sharp, frigid wind.

The truck pulled away before she managed to do more than doze.

She barely managed to choke back the squeak of surprise as the first pot hole they hit nearly bounced her out of her seat. Fortunately for her dignity, Babe and Liebgott caught her and got her back into her seat without fanfare.

Eve noticed with a scowl that her blankets had multiplied. She had three now.

The boys laughed at her scowl – or maybe she had been less successful in hiding her squeak than she thought – and she grumbled unhappily as she resettled in her blankets. But secretly, despite her show of hostility, she was glad, both for the extra warmth of the blankets and that her men were laughing.

It was enough to send her back to sleep with a smile, feeling Babe and Liebgott's arms wrap around her shoulders to help keep her secure for the rest of the ride.

-

About an hour later, Eve woke up mid-cough. She desperately dragged air into her lungs with deep gasps that accomplished nothing as her body tried to expel the fluid that had crept down her throat. She threw herself forward over her knees instinctively, curling into a pathetic ball with each progressive hacking wheeze.

Her deep seated cough turned into a retching gag, pulling whatever she'd managed to eat before they left from her gut and sending it onto the floorboards beneath her. When she figured out what was happening she tried to choke the vomit back, throwing herself – with energy she would've sworn she didn't have – over the planks behind to spit it out. The panic from throwing up stopped her cough, at least as she focused on heaving over the side.

Hands rubbed her back and snagged her helmet before it tumbled off her head and bounced down the road.

After a good minute of agonizing humiliation – she couldn't believe she was actually throwing up when there was still so little food to go around – it stopped.

Eve spit the last of the bile out vindictively and turned back around with an exhausted sigh, trying to ignore the vomit staining the floorboards.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, refusing to look at the guys around her. It wasn't until she heard the swish of water against metal that Eve looked up to accept the canteen from Jackson, breathing a small, hoarse "thanks" as she swilled the water.

Eve turned and spat over the side again before she took a tentative drink of the water; she didn't want to throw up again.

She sat down again, resettling with a sigh and closed her eyes. She couldn't even look at the men around her, didn't want to see what was painted on their faces.

Someone wrapped the blankets back around her. Eve was relieved that they didn't smell of regurgitated K-Rations.

A frigid hand – Liebgott's she realized when she cracked an eyelid – touched her forehead.

Eve rolled her eyes at him and very pointedly nestled down into the blankets.

It took less than a minute for her to slip back to sleep, completely drained of energy.

-

Liebgott looked around the truck at the very worried other members of Second Platoon. "She's got a fever," he informed them.

There was a spattering of nods.

"Does the Doc know?" asked Babe.

"He knows."

"Did he give her anything?" asked Malark, suddenly worried that Eve was going to be evacuated to the rear for medical reasons and he'd be left alone in charge of Second. He knew himself well enough to know that, while he could do it if he had to, he wasn't really in a good mental state for it.

"Penicillin just after Bastonge," said Liebgott. “Doesn’t seem to have worked.”

"Fuck," said Malarkey with a sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands.

The silence that followed was tense and watchful. No one else managed to sleep.

-

Liebgott's arm was falling asleep where Ev’s head was leaning against it. She was like a hot water bottle tucked into his side.

Still, he wouldn't move for the world. She hadn't gotten any real sleep in so fucking long that he'd glared the rest of the guys in the truck into silence.

They were just getting into town, Haguenau or something. At this point, all these little towns were starting to blend together.

"Hey, guys!" cried a voice with far too much exuberance. It also sounded familiar, though Lieb wasn't really sure he could place it.

He shot a disdainful glance at the beaming man, expecting a replacement. It took him far too long to recognize the man as Webster from Toccoa.

He took in the man's easy smile and clean uniform with resentment. He hadn't realized just how filthy they all were until the difference was here before him. It had been a long time since any of them had had a shower let alone a clean uniform to speak of. Webster looked like he hadn’t had any hardships at all.

"Some Lieutenant told me to report to Second," said Webster, twirling an absent finger to indicate someone.

Liebgott used his free hand to flip open his lighter absentmindedly. He didn't have anything to smoke any more, but the gesture comforted him, the habit alone almost making up for the lack of an actual cigarette. He would bet even Ev's stockpile had dried up by this point, though he gave her a speculative glance.

He glanced over at Babe and Malark, neither of whom had moved to answer Webster, and then over to Jackson, who was taking in the arrogant man with disbelief and no little amount of hostility.

Webster noticed the stare too. "Your name's Jackson right?" he asked.

"That's right," said Jackson, guardedly. Liebgott could hear the resentment.

"Who's leading the platoon?" Webster asked, obviously having eliminated any of the Toccoa guys as likely to answer his question. He'd known all of them long enough to recognize that they were not as pleased to see him as he was to see them.

Jackson gave a darting glance to the form still sleeping on Liebgott's shoulder before he answered. "Sergeant Buchanan is."

Liebgott watched as Webster scanned the truck for Ev and noted his flinch of surprise. He glared at the man, and Webster didn’t mention whatever had obviously crossed his mind, instead saying: "What? No officers?"

Liebgott barely refrained from snorting at the obvious change in topic and then he got an idea.

With a barely suppressed smirk he said, "I guess you didn't hear; they're making Malarkey a Lieutenant," he said, staring off into the distance to keep a smirk from ruining the whole thing. "He's on the fast track now."

"Really? That's great." said Webster, as eager for gossip as ever. "Not Sergeant Buchanan?"

"Nah," he said shifting slightly under her weight, his shoulder aching. "They're not gonna give her a commission."

"That's too bad," said Webster. "She'd make a good one."

Just for that, Liebgott might've softened a bit towards the man. But only a bit.

"Jackson, help me up will ya?" said Webster, slinging his bag into the truck.

Jackson begrudgingly gave Webster his hand and towed him into the truck. His mood towards the newest arrival had also lightened a bit now that Webster had shown that he wasn't going to be an ass to his sergeant.

This in mind, he tried to make conversation. "So, ah," said Jackson, "you come from the hospital?"

Liebgott rolled his eyes at Babe, who gave a sympathetic shrug.

"Musta liked that hospital," said Lieb. "'Cause, ah, we left Holland four months ago."

"Well I wasn't there the whole time," protested Webster, trying to explain his absence when they’d desperately needed him in Bastogne. "There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot."

"Well you sure didn't bust out and try and help us in Bastogne, Web," said Lieb, back to fiddling with his lighter to keep a lid on his rage.

He wasn't going to wake Ev up just because he wanted to scream at Webster. Sure they were probably really close to getting off this stupid truck, but she needed every last moment of rest she could get and he was going to make damned sure she got it.

Next to him, Babe gave a sniff of disdain, agreeing with Liebgott's sentiment as he physically turned himself away from Webster.

Liebgott wished he could do the same, but he couldn’t without waking Ev.

He was not ready to forgive the man so easily – especially when so many others had found their way back to the line, so many others who'd been more severely wounded than a bullet in the ankle.

Ev, for example, should by all rights be in a hospital; and yet she was still out here with them, leading them.

Webster had a long way to go before Liebgott forgave him for not being at Bastogne.

"I don't know how I would have done that," he said, a reasonable smile on his face, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's funny because Popeye found a way," said Lieb, turning his head as though he needed to confer with Babe. "So did Alley, right?" Babe gave a solemn nod in agreement, "back in Holland, and Guarnere," he added making a list.

"Yeah, where is Guarnere?" interrupted Webster, sounding genuinely concerned about the man.

Liebgott watched the way Babe's eyes flicked down, and Grant, whom Webster hadn't even bothered to acknowledge yet, trying to will the impudent man into silence through the weight of his stare.

"Is he still your Platoon Sergeant?" Webster pressed.

Lieb was dumbfounded that Webster had even had the gall to ask. When someone wasn't present anymore, people who’d been around a while figured out that it was better not to ask. Lieb had thought Webster was smarter than that. He hadn’t shut up about Harvard at Toccoa, and by all reckoning, Harvard only took the best and the brightest.

"No," drawled Jackson as the truck jerked to a stop, eyes flicking to Ev to make sure she was still sleeping, that she hadn't overheard Webster's insensitive comment. She was still grieving. "He got hit."

Webster avoided Liebgott’s scathing retort only because the truck stopped right then. As he'd known she would, Ev woke up, instantly on full alert and calling out orders.

-

Eve went from asleep to awake and ready to go between heartbeats. She allowed herself the barest moment of disorientation before she was barking orders. "All right, fellas," she said, voice hoarse. "Let's go."

She stood up to disembark and then took a moment to count the blankets she'd shed. Somehow, she wasn't surprised there were four in the pile instead of the three she'd fallen asleep with.

She shot a glare at Liebgott, who'd turned after he got out just so he could see her face as she gave him a disgruntled scowl. She rolled her eyes instead and made some sound of exasperation as she hopped out next to him. He laughed as she slapped his helmet in revenge as she hit the ground next to him.

"Got any water?" she asked him. He forked over his canteen readily, having anticipated her wanting some. Eve’s had taken quite a hit when she’d vomited. Sobel had trained them all to always ration water, but her raw throat had pushed her hand. The ice cold liquid from Lieb’s canteen caused the pain in her throat to spike for a moment, but it gentled as it went down.

She passed it back and heard Babe snarl, "Yeah," from behind her, drawing her attention. She'd never heard the man sound so angry.

The redhead was directing all of his fury at a figure she hadn't even noticed. Unless she was hallucinating – and she wouldn't put that outside the realm of possibility – Webster had joined them sometime during the ride to Haguenau.

She hadn't even noticed him. Now she couldn't do anything but stare at him in surprise. She glanced at Liebgott, whose shoulders were tight with rage, though Eve wasn't really sure why.

Webster had been gone so long that Eve honestly hadn't expected to ever see him again. If someone was in the hospital too long, he got assigned to a new unit. It was why so many people went AWOL from the Aid Station.

"Yeah, Bill got hit," raged Babe. "Blew his whole leg off!"

Eve felt like someone had sucker punched her. Misery so sharp it felt like a gaping wound descended. The blood under her skin at her neck was itching and hot, and then suddenly it was itching on her hands, thick and vicious as it clung to her, choking her as it filled her senses with the inevitability of losing her friend to an uncertain fate. She gagged. She wanted to throw up. Her chest hurt as her temperature fluctuated from hot to ice cold before rotating back to hot again. She felt as though someone had reached into her chest and grabbed her heart, squeezing it in a vice that was like a lance of agony.

She took a deep breath, fighting for calm, unclenching fingers that had dug crescents into her palms. She had to physically turn away before the urge to scream at Webster – or punch him in the nose – overwhelmed her common sense. If he was in her truck then he was probably going to be in her platoon, and as his Platoon Sergeant, it would be a very bad idea for her to hit the man, no matter how much he deserved it.

Webster had been gone a long time, but he should still know better than to ask after those who were missing.

He’d taken the hint and shut up, though, and Eve felt pathetically grateful he didn’t mention Toye or any of the countless others missing from their depleted company.

She determinedly took all of her thoughts and shoved them into a box to ignore them until she had a moment to properly breathe, to properly grieve.

Someone – she suspected Liebgott but Jackson looked too innocent to not be guilty of something – draped a blanket over her shoulders. When she turned to bark at him about it, Sergeant Grant dropped a second one over it.

She glared at him and the other assembling men – most of whom were obviously smothering smiles behind their hands – and gave up. They obviously thought this was a particularly amusing joke. Eve just felt ridiculous in her blanket cape.

Officially grumpy, and deciding not to waste time on Webster’s insensitivity, she led the men around the trucks, intent on finding where they were being stationed for the time being.

"Sergeant Buchanan," came a soft Cajun drawl she would recognize anywhere. Somehow, Eve had missed Roe standing at the front of the truck, innocently holding a clipboard and obviously waiting for her. "Aren't you supposed to be on your way to the CP?"

She turned to face him slowly, disbelief on her face. How the hell did Gene know about that already? They hadn't been in Haguenau long enough for anyone to have told him yet.

Behind her, Liebgott started laughing, completely unashamed.

She whirled around to face him, understanding suddenly striking her like lightning. That traitor! she thought, about to yell at him.

He was already too far away for her limited voice to reach him even if she did start shouting. If her voice had been healthy, she might've done it anyway – had they not still been on the line she definitely would've – but it wasn't, and he was going to take full advantage of that fact by putting as much distance between them as possible right now.

She'd get him later.

"Ev?" said Roe, drawing her attention back to him and away from thoughts of strangling Liebgott.

"I'm going," she said.

And she would, just as soon as she figured out where Second was supposed to be going so she could hook up with them later.

"Make sure you do," said Roe, this time a promise to hunt her down and drag her implicit in his soft voice.

She gave him a nod, the only gesture her dignity could spare, and then waded through the knot of men that had gathered in front of the truck waiting for orders.

"All right, spread out," she said, pitching her voice to be heard by the entire group and surprising herself by how well it carried. Somehow, her voice seemed to be doing better since the ride; not by a lot but by enough that she was able to be heard for once.

She bumped Babe's shoulder as she passed him, gazing up at him worriedly. Bill was his friend too. He mustered a smile for her.

She didn't have time to talk to him right now, but she knew that whatever Webster had said to set him off was still festering. Babe and Bill had bonded so quickly as Philly kids that she was worried how losing Bill was affecting him. If Eve missed Bill like a limb, then Babe probably missed him like a whole side of himself.

"Hold along this line until I figure out where we're goin'," she told her platoon, gesturing for them to line up like school children on the sidewalk.

She needed to find Speirs, or maybe Lipton to give her directions to where she could billet her men and then figure out how to escape them before they dragged her to the CP.

"Sarge," called a voice behind her. Eve turned to see Webster. He addressed her again when he reached her. "Sarge?"

"What is –"

Her ears caught the unmistakable whistle of an incoming shell. She clutched her helmet to her head and hunched her shoulders despite already knowing that the shell was going to miss them by a few hundred yards. You couldn’t hear the shell that was going to get you because it was already on top of you by the time the sound caught up to it. Hearing them coming in was actually a good sign.

Still, debris had been known to travel farther than this, and ducking was a long honed instinct by now. Likely a Kraut had just taken a shot in the dark and almost got lucky by sheer accident though, as the next few incoming rounds weren't aimed anywhere near them.

She straightened when she heard the boom of the hit and turned back to Webster, puzzled when he wasn't where he'd been standing a second ago. She looked around for him, worried.

She found him laid out on his belly in the half-melted snow, much to her incredulity.

She bit her cheek to keep from laughing at him, especially since just beyond him was Captain Speirs, still standing calm as you please as he noted where the mortar had hit just beyond the wall he was in front of.

Eve almost felt embarrassed for Webster as he scrambled to his feet. He was supposed to be a veteran, and yet here he was, covered in snow after diving for shells that would never come close to hitting him.

She shook her head and shared a grin with Malark – who was amused enough to tease the man.

"What's the matter there, Webster? Nervous in the service?" joked Malark.

It made her grin. This was the first glimpse of the old Malarkey since Toye, Guarnere, and Compton left. He’d been far too quiet lately. She had missed his sense of humor.

"What?" asked Webster, still wide-eyed with panic. "No, no, I'm fine, Sarge," he assured them as he scrambled to his feet and rejoined the two NCOs.

"Ev, Webster wants to know if he's with us or First," said Malark, filling her in on a conversation she must have slept through.

"All right," she said. "Come on then, Webster. I've got to go to the CP to talk to Speirs anyway."

"Speirs?" asked Webster, bewildered.

"Captain Speirs, yeah," said Eve.

"What happened to Captain Winters?" asked Webster, sounding bewildered.

Eve shared another bemused look with Malark thinking, _Christ, Webster really has been gone a long time._

"He's running the whole Battalion now," offered Malark. And then his face turned into a barely suppressed smile. "I've got the guys, Ev. You go."

Eve scowled at him, sensing the teasing he was trying not to actually voice but knowing that it was heavily implied.

"All right, Malark, you win," said Eve with a sigh, feeling outnumbered. She watched Speirs duck into a building she assumed was the new CP. "Let's go, Webster," she said, already making her way across the street.

He caught up to her, duffle bag swinging over his shoulder. "Not Speirs from Dog Company?" questioned Webster, still sounding dumbfounded.

"The one and only," she said, picking up the pace. She didn't want to be yelled at any more than she already deserved, and she really wasn't interested in Roe dogging her until she caved in. Best to just get this whole ridiculous business about her sleeping in the CP over with.

She was sleeping wherever her men were; that was that.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know we just broke the 300k mark, and we still have three episodes to go, so I just wanted to take a second to say thank you. I have received so much feedback already, everything from kind comments, to kudos, to bookmarks, even this lovely [gift](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5155745/chapters/11871902) (which is wonderful and absolutely worth a read or two.) and I just wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart. Each and every one of you means the world to me. (Yes, even you lurkers!)
> 
> Thanks you for giving this a chance and investing considerable time in getting this far. I hope you're willing to stick around a little bit longer, because we've still got a ways to go.
> 
> As always, updates are every Thursday. See you all then!


	42. Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company was pulled out of Bastogne and stationed in Haguenau.
> 
> "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying, "I will try again tomorrow." – Mary Anne Radmacher
> 
> Now: An old face rejoins Easy Company and a new Lieutenant takes over Second Platoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Atman, and Laura001 are amazing folks who took the time to polish this. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 42-

Eve blinked a few times for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the CP. The bleak front room had been opulent once, before the war. Now the floral wallpaper was in tatters, pulling away from the rough stone walls. The sharp tang of crumbling mortar and gunpowder mixed with the comforting scent of cigarette smoke made the air feel warm and close.

When her sight finally did adjust, she made a quick survey of the room's occupants. In the center of the room, Speirs was shifting through a box of supplies Vest was holding for him. Luz was talking with Lip – the man shedding his webbing in order to get comfortable – near an old burgundy couch that might've clashed with the room before soot had blanketed the whole room in a shade of gray.

She took off her helmet and tucked it under her arm as she ran grubby fingers through her lengthening hair.

Lip noticed her and smiled, waving her over as Luz ambled away. He sat on the couch with a groan Eve sympathized with.

"Nice blankets," he said with a smile.

It took Eve a moment to remember what he was talking about. She scowled. "My platoon thinks it's funny. Want one?"

He gave her a bright smile and laughed. "Luz is getting me one," he said gesturing to the end of the couch his feet didn't quite hit.

"I'm good," protested Eve. Well, she tried, until Lip steamrolled right over her protests.

He gave her his best flatly disbelieving look and said, "Doc told me you're sick, Buchanan. Sit."

Eve sat, stifling her own groan. She wasn't planning on staying too long, so she didn't bother with taking off her own webbing, though doing so would have been infinitely more comfortable.

"I'm a little surprised you actually came," commented Lip quietly. "I didn't think you would."

"Speirs ordered me to," hedged Eve.

Lip gave her another flat, but somehow amused look.

Eve sighed. The man knew her too well. "And Gene caught me when we got off the trucks."

He tried not to smile, but Eve saw it anyway. She leaned back into the couch with a huff, trying to remember the last time she'd sat on anything with a cushion.

Luz came back then, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a report outstretched towards Lipton.

The radioman smiled as he saw Eve, who hadn't even bothered to reposition the blankets so they'd be of actual use. He ruffled a hand through her greasy hair, uncaring that she tried to swat at him.

The figure lingering in the doorway caught his attention, "Hey, look who it is!" he greeted as though Webster had been gone years instead of months.

"Nice digs, huh, Lip?" said Luz as he took in the man's slumped posture on the couch.

"Yep," agreed Lip looking over the supply list.

Eve agreed. It was a very nice couch.

She wanted nothing more than to curl up and just fall back to sleep – her nap on the truck had been far too short – but her pride wouldn't let her. She needed to see to her men first. She blinked hard, trying to ward off the drowsiness that suddenly swamped her and tried to focus.

Luz came back – Eve hadn't even noticed him leaving – and announced his presence by saying, "Hey, look what I found!"

Before Eve could look, Luz was flinging a blanket he'd appropriated over Lip's lap. He spent a few extra moments making sure it covered as much of Eve as he could get away with too, hiking it up around her shoulders with a few tugs and countering her glare with his smartass grin.

Lip pulled his portion of the blanket up under his chin even as Eve shed the part that was over her. She felt overheated, which was distinctly at odds with how her bones ached from the cold.

Besides, Lip needed the blanket far more than she did at this point – she could feel him shivering against her thigh. Plus, she already had two that she wasn't using.

"Sergeant Lipton," Webster greeted. "You feeling all right?" he asked, probably just to be polite. A blind man could tell that Lip wasn't feeling well.

"He's got pneumonia," Luz informed the room bluntly.

Eve's eyes flew to Lip, who gave her a solemn nod when he saw her concern. Pneumonia killed people – people in hospitals with doctors and medicine. Lip was still out here in a warzone where they barely managed to have blankets consistently, let alone beds.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Webster.

"Eh, what're you sorry about?" demanded Luz as he straightened up. "He's alive, on a couch, with a goddamn blanket. Snug as a bug."

"Yep," Lip agreed with a grin.

Luz hurried off to go supervise Vest's inventory work. Somehow it had become the radioman’s job to inventory the incoming supplies when he wasn't bouncing around with a radio on his back.

"Lip," rasped Eve, interrupting the man's reading now that she'd been reminded of Webster. The man himself had been opening his mouth to speak, but respectfully kept silent when Eve started talking. "We're not sure which platoon Webster should be in. He was in First back in Holland, but Foley sent him over to Second."

Lip raised an eyebrow at her, not sure why he should care, why she was even bothering him with this. Eve crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her palms under her armpits, trying to appear indifferent.

She certainly didn't want to admit to Lipton that she didn’t _like_ Webster right now, and judging from the animosity on Liebgott’s face she wasn’t alone. She also didn’t particularly want to admit that bringing the man here had been the plausible excuse she'd used to obey orders and come to the CP, despite knowing the whole thing was pointless. She wasn't that sick, not like Lipton was, and it wasn’t like there was any medicine she could take to magically get better. She was far more useful with her men. She needed to go out and do her job, not sit here and be mollycoddled.

"Have a seat, Webster. We'll get you situated," said Lip, flapping the report at the still standing Webster so he'd sit down and stop looming.

Eve watched Webster gingerly take a seat at a piano bench. Vest shot him a glare from where he was still futzing with the box on the back of the piano. Webster didn't seem to notice.

Eve watched him shift uncomfortably without sympathy. If he didn’t want to be glared at, he should jump in and help out.

"How long have you, ah, been sick?" asked Web, unable to keep quiet after just a few moments of awkward tension.

Eve hadn't remembered Webster being verbose at Toccoa, but then she hadn't really gotten to know the man while he was in First despite sometimes working with the platoon. She'd have to get to know him now though if he really was going to be under her in Second.

"Long enough," answered Lip with a resigned sigh. He shifted, curling up and generally resituating himself in order to give Eve more room. She glared at him fiercely until he resettled how he'd been despite her own drooping eyelids now that she was comfortable for the first time in ages.

A very young lieutenant walked into the CP and Eve refrained from scolding the First Sergeant in front of the newcomer.

Instead, Eve surged to her feet, a beat behind Webster who was already standing as was proper protocol when officers entered the room unless the officer themselves had already specified otherwise. Even if she didn’t know him, Eve figured it didn’t hurt to start off on the right foot with a strange officer.

"Is this the Company CP for Easy?" asked the kid tiredly.

"Yes, sir," answered Lip as he started to heave himself up with a groan.

The lieutenant noticed him and quickly said, "As you were."

Lip sagged backwards gratefully, but Eve stayed on her feet, trying to ignore how she was suddenly wracked with shivers, blanket cape forgotten where it had fallen off on the couch.

"Lieutenant Jones," announced the kid, "looking for Captain Speirs?"

Eve traded a glance with Lip. This made the fifteenth Lieutenant for Second since D-Day. And anyone looking at him could tell that he was as green-as-grass. Even his helmet was too big for him.

"He's on his way, sir," said Lip, indicating a chair near Webster with the report he still hadn't managed to finish with all the commotion. "Why don't you, ah, sit down?" he suggested.

Jones crossed the room with his over packed stuff-sack – something the rest of them, barring Webster who didn’t count, had long since lost – moving to stand out of the way by the fireplace.

Lip snagged a private who'd found a seat on an empty rations box near the couch and clapped him on the shoulder with his free hand to get his attention. "Can you get us coffee?" he asked the man hopefully, gesturing to himself and Eve with the reports.

She nodded eagerly. Warm liquid was something she'd come to treasure even if she didn't particularly care for the taste. And coffee would help her keep awake enough to argue properly that she was _fine_.

"Would you like a coffee, sir?" Lip offered the weary sounding lieutenant.

"Ah, no, thank you," he declined and sat.

"All right," acquiesced Lip.

Eve sat back down, tugging her impromptu cape back into place over her shoulders. The coffee showed up, completely distracting her from the idle back-and-forth between Webster and the new Lieutenant.

She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she inhaled the steam from the cup. The warmth of the porcelain in her hands completely overshadowed the fact that she was using an actual cup again for the first time since France.

Captain Speirs stormed into the room. He caught sight of first Lip and then her on the couch and not in bed where he'd ordered them.

In her defense, it wasn’t her intention to use the bed at all, but the couch had been too hard to resist.

Beyond him the Lieutenant snapped to a rigid attention for his captain, much to Eve's amusement. The rest of the Company had given up on that particular bit of military nonsense after three days into Bastogne with no exclusions. It just wasn’t practical. Besides, Easy didn't need to salute Speirs; the man had earned their respect beyond all measure.

Lipton tried to introduce the man – “Captain Speirs, sir, this is, ah, Lieutenant Jones" – but the Captain ignored him.

"Lipton, for Christ sake!" Speirs snarled around his cigarette, gesturing angrily at them with his fist still wrapped around a few books. Speirs's whole demeanor screamed: " _what the hell is wrong with you two_?" to Eve as he crossed the room, his hands full with pilfered loot he'd acquired from elsewhere in the CP. "Would you and Buchanan go back in the back and sack out? There are some beds back there with fresh sheets," he snapped, barely pausing as he carried his loot over to Vest.

Eve watched, hiding a laugh in her coffee as she realized that Speirs had been giving Vest loot to mail, not supplies to sort through when she'd come in. He added what was in his arms to that pile on the piano.

-

Lieutenant Jones, cast aside and forgotten already, looked upon the scene playing out with confusion.

It had been drilled into his skull again and again in basic that you stood up straight and saluted officers and waited until they’d acknowledged you. Not that Captain Spiers seemed to have noticed him at all. And neither First Sergeant Lipton nor the sergeant next to him had bothered saluting their commanding officer at all, and rather than receiving a sharp reprimand the way Jones had back in basic, Captain Speirs was treating them like equals. Like friends.

Maybe being in Easy Company wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It took Jones longer than it probably should have to realize that the sergeant his new CO was scolding on the couch was none other than Evelyn Buchanan, the female paratrooper.

He couldn't believe he'd missed her before.

Under the dirt and the lengthening soldier’s haircut, she was a lot prettier than he thought she'd be. A closer inspection revealed that she was well on her way to being underweight, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and her ice blue eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark bruises from sleep deprivation. Her pallor wasn't just pale, it had the glistening quality of someone who'd been ill for a while.

Suddenly it was like he couldn't look away. His eyes kept straying back to her, studying her slight form, trying to see her again as a soldier. It was difficult when all he could see was how fragile she looked.

She caught his eye and arched an eyebrow. Jones felt his cheeks flush and he turned his attention back to watching the Captain, feeling scolded.

Easy Company was certainly going to be interesting.

-

"I will, sir," Lip agreed with an acknowledging gesture, despite knowing Speirs was no longer paying attention to him and probably intending to do no such thing.

The Captain deftly ignored first their new Lieutenant, Jones, and then Webster as he set down a gold plated clock the length of Eve's arm with the rest of his stockpile. Lip grimaced as he took another scalding sip of his coffee. "Just trying to be useful, sir."

Speirs turned a sharp glare on the First Sergeant, conveying his displeasure at the sentiment. Eve was probably the only one who could read the worry in his gaze.

Lip was an integral part of Easy Company’s morale. Losing Lip because he wasn’t looking after himself would be unforgivable. The First Sergeant would be of better use when he was healthier. Resting would help.

Speirs gave the man a sharp look, the same one Elizabeth had on her face when she’d actually sat on Eve to get her to do what the older girl wanted. She wouldn’t put it past the man to do something similar to keep Lipton down and resting, nor did she doubt the necessity for such a thing.

Lip wasn’t the kind of man who liked sitting down while his boys were busy or possibly in danger.

Eve ducked into her coffee to hide her smile at the byplay, deftly ignoring Lieutenant Jones’s still lingering attention. Jones would get used to her soon enough, just like everyone else had.

Besides, it was common knowledge in Easy that Speirs leaned on Lip like the man was his right hand. They were kind of like Nix and Winters in that way. It was interesting, and endearing, to witness their interactions up close.

Speirs’s sharp eye landed on her next, probably catching her grin and opened his mouth – likely to give her a scolding of her own, when Captain Winters entered the room, pulling everyone's attention to the revered commander. Eve sent him a silent thanks for his absolutely impeccable timing.

"Listen up," said Winters, scratching his greasy hair as he took off his helmet. Nixon walked in behind him, helmet already off and a three day-old beard making him look scruffy.

Eve put aside the playful atmosphere immediately and gave the men her full attention.

"Regiment wants a patrol for prisoners," announced Winters, his helmet tucked under his arm as he surveyed the room.

Eve's hand's clenched compulsively around her barely warm cup as her heart sank. They were supposed to be done with this kind of thing for a while. They’d been promised a rest.

"This one comes straight from Colonel Sink," said Nix, looking at Eve directly. "So it's not my idea."

Eve closed her eyes and sighed. The exhaustion she'd all but forgotten in the wake of Speirs and Lipton’s endearing interactions swamped her with a vengeance, weighing her down as the news sank in.

She straightened her spine in defiance of it, knowing that there was work to be done. If Nix was passing the buck, that meant the whole operation was likely bureaucratic bullshit, but orders were orders. Even if Second Platoon wasn’t selected to actually run the operation, she was sure they’d be drafted in for covering fire at the very least. She needed to be awake and focused to lead her men so they didn’t end up dying for nonsense.

"Since the river's the main line of resistance," continued Winters, stepping down into the room. "We're going to have to cross it to get to them." He folded his hands in front of him over his helmet and pursed his lips, gaze on Speirs.

Speirs stood at ease but anyone who knew him could see that the man had his full, unwavering and unnerving attention focused on Winters. "What do we need to do?" he asked, knowing Winters probably already had a plan.

Winters always had a plan. Especially when it involved keeping Easy safe.

"There's a three story building on the enemy side, up the embankment," outlined Winters with a shrug. "We know it's occupied. You can have fifteen men; think very hard on who you want to lead the patrol," he said with a sharp gesture adding weight to his words.

"You'll need a lead scout, a translator," he listed, and then at Speirs' nod trailed off. They’d run enough of these kinds of operations that everything was pretty rote now. "I've got the entire Battalion on covering fire,” Winters added.

"When?" asked Speirs.

"Tonight, 0100."

"Yes, sir," said Speirs looking down, likely already thinking over who he wanted for the job.

Eve didn’t envy him the choice. All of Easy needed – deserved – a break and she couldn’t think of anyone who was foolhardy enough to want to go on the patrol, not now after surviving the Ardennes.

"Speirs," said Winters, reclaiming the room’s attention. "I want this one to be as foolproof and as safe as possible."

"Yeah, don't take any chances on this one," added Nix. "We're too far along for that."

Eve drank the last dregs of her coffee and stared mournfully at the bottom of the cup, wishing it would work already and rejuvenate her.

Captain Winters pulled Speirs aside to discuss his recommendations for who should go along on the patrol, the pair throwing not-so convert glances at Eve every so often. She couldn't tell if it was out of worry, and he was expressly forbidding her platoon from going, or if he was specifically drafting her platoon to go. She hoped – for the first time in her memory – that he was just worried about her and not actually choosing Second for this fools-errand.

Second had done enough. They’d lost enough.

She didn’t think she could bear losing anyone else, especially not now.

Nixon made his way over to her, his face a mask of concern when he noticed the kid behind her. This close, she saw the moment his eyes lit up in glee as he changed direction and went to inspect Easy's newest lieutenant.

"Who are you?" Nix demanded, sizing the kid up.

"Lieutenant Jones, sir," the kid answered, trying to pull himself up into an even straighter stance – and give himself a few extra inches of height.

"Right," Nix drawled, giving the kid a mocking once over, "our West Pointer."

Eve stiffened, remembering all too well the last West Pointer lieutenant Easy Company had, the young, foolish Marx flashing before her eyes. She tried to push the feeling aside. That lieutenant hadn’t lived for much longer and she could guarantee that Jones would suffer the same fate if he behaved half as foolishly as that man had.

"Yes, sir," Jones answered, his tone stiff.

Eve could almost see him trembling with nerves. She pretended to take a sip from her empty cup to hide the anticipatory grin on her face. Nix was going to eviscerate the boy.

It was always so amusing when it wasn't happening to her.

"When'd you graduate?" asked Nix, hard and fast.

"June 6th, sir," Jones admitted, uncomfortable, but resigned.

Eve almost dropped her cup. _No way_.

"June 6th?" Nix repeated, eyes wide and stunned. He glanced at Eve, registering her shock as well. Nix turned back to the kid, demanding confirmation. "Of last year?"

"D-Day. Yes, sir," said Jones, resigned. While he'd been graduating, he'd missed the biggest invasion in history. It was something he would never live down.

Nixon couldn't help himself. He started laughing. It was an ironic laugh, short and staccato. "All right," he said, freeing the man from his interrogation. "Don't get hurt."

Eve snorted in laughter, her cut off giggle turning quickly into a coughing fit. Nixon turned to look at her, face awash with concern. Winters touched Nix's back to draw his attention, letting him know without words that he was finished with Speirs now – they could go talk to Sink – and thankfully distracting him from Eve as she tried to gather herself.

-

"Sir?" said Jones, putting himself forward now that Winters was in front of him. "I'd like to volunteer for the patrol."

Jones waited impatiently for the captain's answer.

In the wake of the Bulge, the Krauts were on the run back to Germany. This might be his only chance to get into combat before the war was over. It was a good opportunity. He'd seen the battered, bleary-eyed men outside. They were exhausted. He was fresh and ready to go.

He wanted this patrol – so badly he could taste it. He needed to prove to himself that he could stand combat – prove to himself that he wasn't a coward who'd missed his chance because he’d chosen to be an officer.

If he didn't survive, he could at least die satisfied that he'd done his part for his country.

-

Winters gave the new lieutenant a far more critical once over than Nix had, seeing the boy before him as raw potential. He was everything Winters had come to expect from new replacements. Men who were so eager for combat when they didn't know the first thing about it and didn't understand that the people next to him weren't all going to come home.

Jones was too rigid. He'd shatter instead of bend under the pressure. It wasn't all his fault. He was innocent, without a spot of dirt on his uniform, without a drop of blood on his hands.

Jones didn't understand what it was to lead men who might die. Didn't possess the fear necessary to beget caution.

And Winters wasn't going to make the same mistake he'd made with Dike again.

He'd let the new kid lead something with fewer risks for his first mission. This patrol was too risky already to add a green commander to the mix.

He dismissed the man without a word, unable to properly give voice to his thoughts without offending the lieutenant, or belittling him in front of his platoon sergeant and his captain. He couldn't undermine him that way and he couldn't give the man an answer he'd like.

So instead Winters turned his attention back to Speirs, giving him the decision. "Speirs?" he called, waiting for the man to look up from where he'd bent over the back of the couch to confer with Lipton. "Talk to you in an hour?"

"Yep," said Speirs with a nod, immediately going back to his conversation with Lip.

-

Eve looked around for where she'd put her helmet. She'd seen enough to know that if she was going to escape the CP without being humiliated again, it needed to be now.

"Lieutenant Jones," said Winters, acknowledging the man – tossing him that bone – as he left the CP with Nix.

Eve tried to ignore Speirs and Lipton's conversation, but it was difficult. She desperately wanted to know and she didn’t want to know all at the same time. But avoidance never worked. If she was going, she wanted to know.

"We're short on officers, we, um..." said Speirs, trailing off in thought, "Do you think a Non-Com could lead this?"

"I could think of a few possibilities," said Lip.

Eve pretended she couldn’t see that his gaze had moved back to her face, couldn’t feel the cold fingers of anxiety dripping down from the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver and start coughing, crumbling in on herself as the painful spasms manifested wracked her already aching frame.

-

Speirs watched Ev double over, horrible sounds tearing themselves from the sergeant’s chest.

He winced in sympathy, so did Lip.

"What about Martin? Or Grant?" suggested Speirs in desperation despite already knowing that they were going to pick Ev. She had the most experienced team under her, and she was solid in combat, even when she was sick.

"Honestly, sir, most of the NCOs could use a rest," said Lip, eyes lingering on the woman as she tried to wave Luz away, finally subduing her cough. The radioman cheerfully ignored the woman’s attempt, draping the coat of blankets she’d come in with and abandoned, back over her shoulders despite her protest.

She looked tired, but she also looked resigned. She would get the job done if they asked it of her. Speirs could trust her to do this, she didn’t need an upstart trying to tell her how to run the platoon she’d been running since January. She had the mens’ trust and she knew them implicitly, including their pitfalls and strengths. If he let Jones lead, Ev might be able to keep control from the sidelines, but she would be much more effective if she was in charge of the whole thing.

Speirs looked her over – evaluating her – and then glanced at Lip, who nodded. He decided to let her go. He trusted the rest of his men to know their limits, he was willing to trust that she knew hers. She was still adamantly fighting to stay with her men despite being so obviously ill. It was something he could respect, even if he did think she’d be better off resting for a while.

Still, he trusted her to get the job done.

"Captain?" said Jones sharply, raising his voice as he interrupted them.

Speirs froze, pinning the man with his furious gaze.

The kid swallowed, but pressed on. "Request permission to go on the patrol?" asked the kid.

Speirs had to hand it to him, the kid had more balls than sense, interrupting them like that.

Even Eve, distracted as she was by Luz's good-natured hovering, turned her attention to him in surprise, a frown on her face.

It was well known by now throughout Easy Company: no one with any sense interrupted Lipton, but especially not when he was talking to Speirs.

Speirs ignored the upstart Lieutenant for a long moment as he reigned in his temper.

"There's your answer," said Lip watching Ev put her helmet back on her head and struggle through the blankets to stand, looking like she was ready to head out.

Speirs looked up at the green officer with flinty resolve in his eyes and danger in his tone as he growled, "No. You don't have any experience. Report to Second Platoon." He dismissed the man, not wanting to deal with him anymore.

"Yes, sir," said Jones, unable to look at the man as disappointment, with a dash each of humiliation and shame washed over him.

"Buchanan," said Speirs, summoning her over to him.

-

Eve was still marveling at the new lieutenant’s guts. Speirs actually liked her, but Eve was certain he'd have skinned her if she'd interrupted Lip like that. The kid could've at least had the sense to wait until there was a natural pause in the conversation.

Still she went over to Speirs, dread building up in her stomach.

"You well enough to lead this patrol?" said Speirs.

Eve straightened and took a deep breath before biting the bullet. She'd known as soon as they'd started talking that Second was being drafted, but it would have been nice to be wrong for once. "Yes, sir."

"You should be in bed, Sergeant," Speirs reminded her. "Malarkey could lead it for you," he offered.

She balked at the idea of putting Malarkey, still reeling from his friends’ deaths, back into combat under the pressure of command. She couldn’t do that to him. She could do this. She had to. “With all due respect, sir,” she said, trying to sound stern, “if my guys are going, I'd like to lead them.”

Which was all well and good, but they didn’t look convinced. She bit back a sigh and added carefully, “If you’d feel more comfortable, Sergeant Malarkey could come along as well? Just in case." She didn’t want him to have to come along, but if it meant he didn’t have to lead it alone, it was the lesser of two evils. She’d rather have him come along and take up command if – God forbid – she got hit. She wanted someone with sense leading her guys back to safety.

He nodded, accepting her solution. "All right," he said, "but I want you to sack out until it's time to assemble, understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said with a grimace. She'd rather get the men ready, but she’d obey. "Anyone you know for sure you want along, sir?"

He gave it some thought, the decision taking him some time. Eve watched him carefully, appreciating the weight that was on his shoulder and giving him the time he needed. Eventually he said, "Tell Heffron, Ramirez, and McClung they're going."

"Yes, sir,” said Eve nodding and committing the names to memory. They weren’t going to be happy. She’d worked with both Heffron and Ramirez before, but this was the first time she was going to work with McClung, known by the nickname “One-Lung,” and she was thrilled at the chance.

McClung was something of a legend in Easy Company. He was born and raised on a Native American reservation up in Washington State and had the reputation for being not only a remarkable shot, but also known for his incredible ability to actually sniff out the Krauts in the forests around Bastogne. He was reliable to boot, but if she remembered correctly from the scuttlebutt around Mourmelon, not a good garrison soldier.

"Sir," said Lip, keeping Speirs from disappearing into the back for more loot, "this is ah, Private Webster-"

"Sir, I'm Private Webster from First Platoon," interrupted Webster.

Eve blinked in surprise – she'd forgotten Webster was even here.

She really didn't understand why the newcomers seemed so determined to piss off Speirs. Both Webster and Jones had interrupted Lipton. Did they have a death wish or something? Web at least should've known better. He knew what the rumors around Speirs were like.

"I just got back from the hospital, and," he spluttered, tone just shy of indignant. "Lieutenant Foley told me to go to Second, but Sergeant–"

"Fine, Second," snapped Speirs, patience gone and likely wondering why on earth Webster thought he cared.

Eve grimaced. This is what happened when people interrupted Lip: they pissed Speirs off.

Speirs looked at Buchanan, "Take Webster here and ah …” he drifted off, searching for the lieutenant’s name.

"Lieutenant Jones," supplied Lip, perfunctorily. He'd probably been supplying names for Speirs – a new commander who suddenly had a hundred new names to learn, not to mention the replacements who cycled through so often – for the past month, so many that his tone was weary, reflecting his exhaustion.

Eve understood where Speirs was coming from. They'd been overwhelmed with truckloads of replacements – who'd come and died so quickly she barely remembered faces let alone names or personal details. But Eve still did her best to try. She didn't want to forget a single man who died under her command, didn't want to dishonor their sacrifices in such a way. She was hardly unique, but a lot of the guys had just given up on doing the same – Speirs was one of them.

"… Lieutenant," said Speirs, not bothering with the correction, "to Second's position, OP2."

Eve made note of where her platoon had ended up, certain that Malark had already managed to get the boys settled without her, and went to introduce herself to her new Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Jones had wisely started gathering up his gear. He paused as she approached and gave her his full attention.

"I'm Sergeant Buchanan, I'm your Platoon Sergeant for Second."

Jones nodded. "Good to meet you," he said.

 _He actually sounds sincere_ , Eve thought surprised, adding a point to his favor.

Despite already being prejudiced against the man because he seemed just as eager for glory as the last lieutenant Second Platoon had been inflicted with from West Point, he impressed her even more by not trying to break her fingers or stare her into submission when she shook his hand. "Likewise,” she said honestly, deciding to give him a chance.

"So, you're without a Platoon leader?" observed Jones.

"Not any more, Lieutenant," she said with a disarming grin.

"Right," he said, sounding like it he’d just realized that he was going to be directly in charge of her.

If he hadn't looked so nervous, she might've been worried. But after fifteen Lieutenants Eve had learned that it was the confident ones who really needed watching. The ones with bravado seldom had anything to back it with. It was the ones who were scared of failing that did best by the men.

"Can I help you carry anything?" she asked, eyeing the man's bag with despair even as she offered to carry it for him. The kid had rammed it full with things he probably wouldn't even need, and it looked heavy.

Her arms started aching just thinking about it, but it was polite to offer and if he took her up on it, she wouldn’t be able to take it back.

"No, thank you. I got it," Jones declined as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

Heaving a grateful sigh, Eve patiently watched Jones struggle to get all of his gear back on in the proper order, shaking her head when he pulled his bag across his shoulder in such a way that it would be impossible for him to get at his rifle if he needed it.

"Sir, your rifle needs to go on last so you can get at it," she corrected him gently.

Jones looked at his setup and opened his mouth, but ultimately caught himself before he cursed. Without complaint or some macho show of ego, he reordered his baggage to have easy access to his gun.

 _Maybe this kid isn’t so bad after all_ , thought Eve with no small amount of relief.

-

Speirs carefully watched their new Lieutenant Jones interact with Sergeant Buchanan.

Already Jones seemed willing to take her advice. It boded well for his future in Second. Speirs would’ve transferred the man elsewhere if he’d shown even the slightest hint of the prejudice that had been common among the replacements. He didn't want to set her up under someone who wouldn't utilize her as the asset she was.

Eve and Second's two new additions were headed towards the door as soon as Jones had resettled his things in the proper order.

"Buchanan?" said Speirs, halting the trio's exit with a grin that showed too many teeth to be friendly. "Report back here in the next thirty minutes, or I'll send Doc Roe after you to drag you."

Ev narrowed her eyes and he could tell that she was wondering if she could get away with defying him. He smiled in response, the same, taunting, _go ahead and try it, I dare you_ smile that was promise and threat all wrapped up in one.

The woman finally relented with a stiff nod. "Got it, sir," she said, and quickly led the two men out of the CP before Speirs could change his mind and call her back.

He made a note to track down the Doc just in case, and got back to the thankless task of getting his acting First Sergeant to go to bed.

It was a good thing Speirs liked a challenge.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, extra appreciation to those who left kudos and comments. Updates are every Thursday. See you then!


	43. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Webster and Lieutenant Jones join Second Platoon.
> 
> "Outstanding leaders go out of their way to boost the self-esteem of their personnel. If people believe in themselves, it's amazing what they can accomplish." —Sam Walton
> 
> Now: Exhaustion grips Second Platoon as the news breaks that they've been selected for the patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Laura001, and Atman are amazing and gave this chapter their loving attention. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 43-

Eve didn't want to be in the open any longer than she had to be, and she knew that Speirs would make good on his word and send Gene after her if she was late.

She'd said it before and she'd say it again: Gene was scary when he thought people weren't taking care of themselves. The last thing she needed was for him to get her in his sights as not doing everything she could to take care of herself.

After they'd left Bastogne, the medics had been inundated by a swarm of guys who'd been hiding ailments to stay on the line and because they hadn't been treated right away, they were worse off than they would have been had they seen someone sooner.

It meant Gene was very busy – and Eve didn't want to bother him any more than she already had.

She should be better by now, especially after a dose of penicillin, and she was sure Gene was worried as all heck that she wasn't.

So she wasn't going to make it worse by making Speirs send him out to fetch her for being late. He'd stare at her with his big, sad Cajun eyes and make her feel even more awful.

The street before her was lined with boarded up buildings, pockmarked by bullet scars. The wide sidewalk boasted a wall – three or four thick – of snow dusted sandbags tall enough that it came up to Eve’s waist. The oft trodden path had churned that snow and the debris that still littered the street into one giant mud puddle.

The cold fog and gray sky added misery, turning the whole town muted tones of brown and gray.

Eve tried not to shiver as she watched Webster lead Lieutenant Jones splash across the waterlogged street and onward to the equally drenched sidewalk. The duo ducked from sandbag cover to sandbag cover maintaining a crouched run, and paying absolutely no mind to the half melted mud that must be seeping into their backsides as they paused to wait for her. Their canvas stuff sacks seemed to be taking the brunt of it, sagging down below the men’s torsos to dip in and out of the water at each pause.

Eve kept her own steps soft as she waded through the puddles and muck, carefully trying to keep the frigid water from splashing up into her already ragged boots and soaking her feet and pants more than they already were. Webster and Jones expressed no such caution in their clean uniforms with their waterproof boots as they navigated a haphazard route towards OP2 and the rest of Second Platoon. Their boots were probably winter ones. Eve's were not. They were the same ones she'd jumped into Holland with in the spring and whatever waterproofing they'd once had was long gone. The men she was walking with hadn't spent months worried their feet might rot if they didn't take proper care, hadn't had to worry about freezing to death if their limbs got too cold. But for Eve, who was already battling a persistent illness, she couldn’t afford to be so reckless.

She gave a nod to the Sergeant leading a four man patrol – not Easy Company – walking up the middle of the road like any sane people would’ve instead of trying to muscle their way through the flooded sidewalk.

The man gave her an odd look in reply – it wasn’t hard to guess why.

Eve felt ridiculous – knew she looked it too – thanks to her blanket cape, but at least she wasn't behaving like an idiot.

She cursed when Webster started running, probably trying to avoid talking to Lieutenant Jones. She didn’t feel good for pity’s sake. It wasn’t that she couldn’t run, merely that she didn’t particularly want to. Eve caught up to the men easily, but it cost her energy she had been hoping to save for the patrol tonight, or wriggling out of Speirs’s plans for her to rest up until then.

 _Pop_!

Eve ducked immediately when she heard the unmistakable pop of a sniper rifle – but when no one went down or started screaming for a medic, she easily got up and continued on, shortening the distance between her and the two boys who'd run ahead again – who were apparently having a nice chat.

"Who's that?" said a voice coming out of the building just in front of the two replacements. "Webster?" said Kiehn with surprise and a smile. Kiehn was a Toccoa man in Third, so he might've known Webster from before. Eve personally didn’t know the man that well, nor his companion, but she knew him well enough to know that he was a good man.

"That's right. How you doing, Sergeant Kiehn?" asked Webster before exchanging a similar greeting with the other sergeant.

"Hey, look what we scrounged! We got some spuds!" bragged Kiehn, showing the men the sack of potatoes he was carrying, waving when he spotted her. "How you doin' there, Sergeant Buchanan? Check it out!"

Eve gave the enthusiastic man a grin as he showed off his loot. She was easily just as excited as he was at the prospect of real potatoes instead of K-rations.

“Do you know where OP2 is?” Eve asked the sergeants.

Kiehn nodded at a building a few yards away, across the square with a decorative concrete warp around fence lining the stoop.

The whistle of an incoming mortar – whistling just the right pitch for a direct hit on their position – had Eve launching into action. Her new lieutenant slipped, his feet sliding out from under him as another blast hit the sidewalk only a hundred feet from them.

"MOVE!" she shouted at Webster, trusting him to know to get out of the way.

She grabbed the Lieutenant’s collar, dragging him along through the mess that used to be the sidewalk towards somewhere there weren’t bombs falling on them.

"Go! Go!" she heard Keihn shouting from across the street, already well away from the blast radius.

Eve didn’t worry about the veterans, just focused on hauling the Lieutenant along and getting Webster into gear. She didn't want to lose them in the confusion.

The mortar landed feet from where they'd been talking and Eve let go of Jones, trusting a man from West Point to at least sense the danger to himself and get moving under his own power.

"Shit, they've spotted us!" Webster yelled in a panic. He and Jones dove behind a decorative monument in the middle of the square, using it for cover.

"They're taking potshots, hoping to get lucky. Now move!" Eve snapped at them hoarsely, her patience long past evaporated now that there was actual danger to their lives.

Another of those potshots hit just next to the monument, sending up a shower of dirt like a bad omen. Eve got going, trusting Webster to remember enough to follow her lead.

Convinced now that the Krauts were aiming randomly, not at actual targets or they’d be hitting the buildings and outposts, Eve kept moving, prodding the men along towards OP2. She was far too used to this game and barely even bothered to flinch as explosions rocked the streets.

It was hard to be concerned. After Bastogne, stray 88 fire just didn't seem daunting.

Besides, Eve was on a tight schedule thanks to Speirs, and cowering, waiting for the guns to stop wasn’t going to change that. She’d learned long ago, that if she had time to hear the screaming round, it wasn’t heading for her. Either she was in the way of the round coming for her, or she wasn’t. She had more pressing things to do than wait around anxiously for death to find her.

Shoving morbid thoughts aside, Eve made good time as she cut across the cobblestone streets, trusting the boys to follow along or get left behind.

-

Webster followed Buchanan with something akin to awe. He'd remembered that she was levelheaded – still had the image of her next to Bull on that jeep when they'd gone missing in Holland burned into his brain – but he was realizing that she was absolutely fearless as he watched her move up the street, bold as brass in her blanket cape.

They hit the banister in front of the OP2, Webster reeling the Lieutenant in by his shoulder as Buchanan grabbed the bag, slowing the man down and tossed it over the banister with a show of surprising strength. Apparently impatient, next she grabbed Webster's bag and did the same thing before scrambling over the stone railing, blankets and all.

How the fucking blankets had managed to stay on her shoulder throughout the entirety of that mad scramble, Webster would never know. He strongly suspected divine intervention or Luz.

The call for "all clear" came just as Webster was boosting Jones over the railing.

"Come on boys," Ev said cheerfully as Jones hauled Webster over the landing. Even sick and coughing, she was in better shape than them. Webster might have been embarrassed if he didn’t remember how hard she’d worked to keep up with them all in Toccoa.

He wondered how long she’d been sick.

Ev watched the men catch their breath before adding, "Speirs has me on the clock, and I don't want to bother the Doc unless I have to all right? Let's move." Her voice kept cutting out annoyingly mid-word.

She didn't bother waiting for them to gather their gear as she entered the house Kiehn had indicated was Second Platoon’s temporary quarters.

Webster shrugged at Lieutenant Jones and followed her inside.

"Sergeant Malarkey?" she asked some solider loitering on the ground floor. Webster didn’t recognize him immediately, it had been a while after all, but Webster was pretty sure that the kid was among the replacements that had joined Second Platoon after Normandy.

-

Eve paid no attention to Webster and Jones as she greeted Smith and started interrogating him about where she could find her second in command.

"Upstairs," Smith answered, staring at the two men who'd stumbled in after her.

Eve in turn ignored them completely, trusting they’d follow along when they were ready. "Thanks," she replied, resigned. Stairs seemed like a lot of work right now.

She was right. They were a lot of work. Her lively jaunt across town hadn’t done her any favors.

It took her twice as long to climb the stairs as it should have, pausing twice to cough until she was gasping, but the boys behind her didn't complain – even when she had to pause on the landing to catch her breath after a third, longer coughing fit, clutching onto her blankets with trembling fingers so she didn’t shake apart.

When she straightened and shook the last of the coughing off, she pretended to ignore the concerned look they shared.

As she witnessed the silent exchange, she realized that somehow, the two had bonded. _Great_.

Finally, after far too long, she reached the top floor, which seemed to currently be housing most of Second.

She was relieved beyond words to see that the room had actual beds, and more than enough of them for every man to have his own. Some even had sheets and pillows and blankets festooning them as her men draped themselves across their chosen racks.

Babe and Jackson had claimed the bunk-bed to the left of the door. Babe was reading some kind of comic book while Jackson was enjoying being horizontal. They both gave Eve a smile when she came in. Smiles that quickly melted away as Webster and Lieutenant Jones entered behind her.

Malarkey was in the middle of the room fiddling with a radio receiver – and she made note of him, because really he was the person she needed to talk to – but looked past him to the smirking figure holding a coffee cup.

Eve honed in on Liebgott with a glare. He was trying to look innocent and failing rather spectacularly because she could see from here that he was biting his lip to keep from laughing as she stalked over to him.

Eve glared at him unimpressed. "You told Roe I was sick," she snapped, shoving an accusing finger into his chest. "You told Roe, who told Lip, who told Speirs!"

-

Liebgott didn’t dare open his mouth or he'd start laughing; even still, he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching in amusement despite his best efforts.

It wasn’t that she was mad – and he could tell she was mad – but it was her whole demeanor, the way her face scrunched up in anger that was more for show than actual feeling that amused him deeply.

She knew the score. He'd sell her out to Roe again the next time she wasn't feeling well, especially if it was because she was running herself ragged again. Hell, she’d done it to him and the other guys more often than he could count.

She was probably _more_ upset that people – that Speirs and Lipton – were fussing over her. Especially since she'd told him a thousand times that everyone had more important things to worry about than her. She was dead wrong of course. Every man on the line was important, Ev included, even if she wasn't exactly a man. Liebgott didn't want to have to go into combat without her because she'd been too bullheaded to inform the Doc that she was ill.

Plus, he loved ruffling Ev's feathers.

It was good for her to have people worrying about her for once instead of the other way around.

Ev's half-smothered smile meant that she knew all of that too, and that he'd been forgiven.

-

Eve couldn't stay upset in the wake of Liebgott's amusement any longer; particularly since she could see halfheartedly hidden smiles on the men – Grant, McClung, and Alley – who Liebgott had been talking with until she tried to nail him to the wall.

Before she could stop it, her own lips were twitching in amusement.

But she couldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

"I'll get you back for this, Lieb. Don't think I'll forget." she warned, pointing a threatening finger at him.

Liebgott's smile melted into a taunting smirk even as he kept his hands raised in a pointless show of innocence. "Sure thing, doll," he said, offensively smug.

She glared even more fiercely at the nickname but couldn't think of anything to say off the top of her head. Instead, she whipped around so fast her blankets smacked hard into his side, flying from her shoulders to land in a pile at his feet.

It was only once she was facing away from Liebgott that she let out a bright, sunny grin. It felt good to be fussed over sometimes and she knew he was just looking out for her.

Still, she made a note to find a way to pay him back for this later, something as humiliating as prancing about all day in a blanket cape had been.

She crossed the room to meet Malarkey and Lieutenant Jones – who was hovering in the background awkwardly – had watched the scene unfold like a perfectly scripted play.

"Hey, Malark," she said as she saddled up to the table he'd been standing at, bumping into his shoulder companionably. "How ya doin'?"

"Not too bad," said the man tiredly, but his eyes were twinkling with shared mischief. "Aren't you supposed to be at the CP, Buchanan?" he asked, his mouth hinting towards a long absent smile.

Eve glared at him, scrutinizing whether or not he'd been in on the plot. She quickly decided that she'd rather he had been, despite knowing that it was unlikely. It was something the Malarkey from Toccoa would've relished being in on, this attempt to ruffle an officer’s feathers. That man had been gone long before the Belgian woods.

She missed him.

"Yeah," she admitted grudgingly, setting aside her musings.

A throat cleared, reminding Eve that Lieutenant Jones needed to be introduced to Malarkey before she had to leave. And she was very reluctant to leave the light atmosphere, especially since she had to break the mood before she left. The patrol tonight hung over her like a black cloud.

"Sergeant Malarkey, this is Lieutenant Jones," Eve said with a sweeping gesture to encompass the man. "He's been assigned to Second Platoon. Sir, Malarkey will help you get situated here while I'm at the CP.

"Malark," she said, turning back to the man and lowering her vocal register a bit both to make it easier to speak clearly, and to keep the rest of her nosy Platoon from hearing her. Nothing was set in stone yet, even though her gut was telling her that Second was being drafted for the perilous mission. "Colonel Sink wants a patrol across the river tonight; prisoner grab for interrogation. Second's in the line-up. Speirs wants McClung, Heffron, Ramirez, and you for now."

Malarkey’s shoulders sagged. "Who's lead?" he asked, equally quiet.

She gave him a smile that didn't quite hit reassurance. "I am."

"You're sick," he pointed out, sounding almost outraged.

"Which is why I want you with me," said Eve, holding up a placating hand.

He sagged even further.

Eve touched his shoulder in commiseration. "I'm sorry, Malark," she said, meaning it with all her heart. "Speirs wants someone else along since I’m sick, and I don't want anyone else at my back."

He nodded, straightening a smidgeon in pride. There weren't many people Eve could say that to anymore and mean it, but Malarkey was very firmly one of them.

He gave her a nod, understanding.

Eve sagged in relief. She could rest a little easier knowing that Malarkey was going to be okay.

“Ev?” called Liebgott. “Clock’s ticking.”

Eve scowled over her shoulder at him before rolling her eyes. The bastard was right. “I’ve got to go back to the CP,” she said, dropping her hand from Malarkey’s shoulder. “I’m due back at the CP soon or Speirs’ll sic Doc Roe on me. I’ll see you at the briefing at 1700,” she said.

Malarkey nodded. She gave him a warm smile before acknowledging her silent shadow once more. “Lieutenant,” she said, giving the man with a small smile.

He was in good hands. Malarkey would take care of him and bring him up to speed.

There was just one more thing she had to do before she could go.

Eve made her way back over to the amused men in the corner. She gave the sniggering Liebgott a very pointed glare, eyeing the bundle he'd collected from the floor. "Give me my damn blankets back," she demanded.

He gave them to her without fuss, full out laughing when she draped them around her shoulders dramatically, her actions intending to elicit just that response.

With a grin on her face, she sauntered past the lot of them – feigning dignity and repose.

She paused on the landing to regain her composure and her breath as she braced herself to head down the stairs, when she heard Lieutenant Jones congratulate Malarkey on the battlefield promotion.

The comment was puzzling; if anyone were in line for a promotion in Easy it was Eve as the Platoon Sergeant. Perhaps Jones had been misinformed about Lipton's upcoming promotion, or perhaps she'd somehow missed something?

She wondered where he'd got his information, but she wasn't surprised at all that he had it. News in Easy Company was like water in a sieve, it leaked everywhere until it soaked the floor.

Eve hit the street and made for the CP. She got about half way there when the mortars started again. She quickly found cover behind a wall of sandbags and held on, listening intently for any shells that might stray too close.

“ALL CLEAR!” someone hollered, voice sounding a ways off.

Eve slowly got to her feet, feeling the ache deeply in her bones as the dust settled. She shook out her blankets, noting that a few of them had gotten sodden in a puddle with frustration.

Wet blankets weren’t warm after all.

"Somebody's been hit!"

Eve froze, dread settling over her and smothering the breath that was already catching in her throat.

 _Please no_ , she thought. _Not again_.

It wasn’t hard to see where the crowd was quickly gathering. Disregarding the fact that it was probably a bad idea, Eve ran over to see if she could help.

Unsurprisingly, Roe was already there.

Christenson was kneeling down next to Kiehn's body. The sergeant’s buddy stood off to the side mumbling blankly, "I just left him. I was on my way back."

Eve put her arm around the stunned man’s shoulders and tried to lead him away. He didn’t need to see this.

Speirs arrived, grimly pushing his way to the front of the gathered men. She watched as he ran a hand over his face, pinching his eyes closed with a slightly trembling hand. It was the only sign of the devastation he might have felt at the needless death.

Eve sympathized. This was another hard reminder that any one of them could be here one second and gone the next.

Speirs did not let his emotions take control as he quickly assessed the gathering scene and took charge. He assigned Jackson and Christenson to help Roe with the body with a quick gesture and soft word. He then found Malarkey in the crowd and had him take over comforting Keihn's buddy.

Eve noticed only then that apparently OP2 had emptied. Most of Second had arrived to witness the scene. She cursed. Her guys didn’t need to see this. Not right before a patrol. Not when they were being sent out again.

Before she knew it, Speirs had his arm wrapped around her shoulders and was marching her off to parts unknown.

Those parts turned out to be where someone had set up showers.

They were getting showers.

“Hot water showers,” answered Speirs. Eve realized she must’ve been speaking out loud.

“Jesus,” said Eve, feeling her knees give out in relief. She might actually get to be _warm_ for a while.

Speirs held her up. “Easy, Sergeant,” he said, pulling until she’d found her feet again. “You all right?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, fighting to stabilize herself.

“I’ve got those names for you Sergeant.”

She nodded, standing under her own power as she anticipated the news.

It was worse than she thought. Speirs gave the list of everyone he’d drafted to go on the patrol. Everyone left in Second Platoon was on list.

Eve sagged, overwhelmed with despair for a minute, before taking that horrible wrenching feeling, the overbearing knowledge that she was leading her guys on a suicide mission for nothing and wrapped it all into a ball and shoved that ball into the box where she kept all such thoughts.

She caught sight of Malarkey as he sagged under a heavy weight on his shoulders, already guessing what was coming. He and the rest of her men must have followed her and Speirs, and she saw that some of them, the men she hadn’t seen at the OP earlier, had already showered.

He’d probably been watching her for her own reaction.

 _Damnit_.

She didn't want to do this. She didn't want Second to be the ones chosen to go. Sure, their success rate was one of the highest, but so was their casualty rate.

There was nothing for it. She squared her shoulders and accepted the roll of command, hard though it was.

"Second Platoon on me!" she called. They gathered around her quickly, somehow able to hear her despite the squeak in her voice. "All right, I'm leading this patrol," she told them, scanning their worn and weary faces. "CO wants Malarkey, Liebgott, Grant, Wynn, Cobb, Jackson -" Jackson stormed away. Eve dearly wished to follow him, make sure he was okay, but she had more names to read. "- Shifty from Third Platoon, and Webster," she finished. Heffron, Ramirez and McClung already knew they were going.

"Do they want anyone from First?" asked Cobb, one of the few lucky ones who'd already managed to get in his shower.

"No," she answered, morose.

"Is there anyone they don't want from Second?" demanded Liebgott.

"That list sounds like everyone to me," she said, resigned. “We’re meeting for a debrief at 1700. If you haven’t already managed it, get a shower in while you can. I’ll be at the CP if you need me. If not, I’ll see you at the meeting. Dismissed.”

Eve waited until the men had staggered away before she gave into the temptation to went to see if there were any private shower stalls or if Speirs had dragged her here just to torment her with the promise of a shower only to rip it away. Though at this point, Eve would get in with her clothes on just to feel the least bit cleaner.

Speirs was waiting for her at the entrance to the only private shower stall in the tent. “Here you go, Sergeant,” he said, solicitously opening the curtain for her. She nearly started weeping when Speirs produced a bar of soap and handed it to her, dashing the errant tear away impatiently.

 _Crying over soap? Christ, I really am tired_ , she thought idly as she stepped into the shower stall.

He mercifully didn’t mention her tears, instead taking her blankets from her shoulders. And despite the CO having a million other things to do, particularly in preparation for the patrol tonight and the looting she knew he was itching to do, he turned his back on her in the stall.

"I'll stand guard," Speirs said, yanking the curtain closed without turning around.

Eve stared at the four white curtains dividing her from the men – paltry little protection should someone try to come in, but she trusted Speirs – and slowly started stripping out of her clothes.

With a little regret – the uniform had been reinforced as a gift in Paris – and despite not doing so well in the rain, it had probably saved her life in the frigid cold of the Ardennes – she shed her clothes, carefully removing the shard of pottery she’d kept in her pocket since Paris and the medallion Madame Bissett had hidden over her heart to keep them from getting lost wherever her uniform was bound for. Carefully, she set them on the ground by her feet, grateful that both precious tokens were too big to slip down the drain.

Her hand shook when she turned the showerhead on, anticipating the chill that always started showers and baths at home. She gasped. There was an instant curtain of steaming water that poured down on her. She luxuriated in the pounding rhythm it made on her bare spine and the back of her neck as she savored the feeling of warmth that seeped into her bones – into her soul – and lingered deliciously.

She inhaled, her lungs expanding, breath coming easier now than it had for weeks.

She did her body first, wanting to make sure she got every speck of dirt off herself that she could. She'd left her bra and underwear on, though she soaped them thoroughly, and what was under them as well – she wasn't about to be stupid about this, not at this stage of the game, but neither did she want to encourage an infection.

She even did the bottoms of her feet – which were an unholy sight to be sure – despite the fact that she was standing in a good two inches of muddy water.

Her legs had a forest of baby fine curly hairs on them, her underarms sporting a thick patch of unruly, wiry curls. She hadn't had cause to shave in so long that she'd just given it up. (It was something Eliza had gotten her into – her vogue sister always determined to stay ahead of the trends. And once started, there was no going back other than withstanding the constant itching that erupted all along her legs as the hairs grew back in. It was just far easier to keep up with, especially since the hairs became so coarse after she’d done it just once.) There was no way she was shaving now either, not when it would just start itching in a few days and all grow back anyway.

She’d long ago accepted her hairy legs and arms as part of the sacrifice she'd made to join the Army. In the long run, it was such a small thing, but right now Eve longed for that part of her ablutions ritual. Shaving always made her feel cleaner.

After soaping up every last crease of skin, Eve started on her hair.

In retrospect, she probably should've done her hair first with the wave of dark brown water that poured over her newly cleaned body. She ran the soap then her fingers through her hair, grateful that it was short because even at this length it was massively tangled. It hadn’t seen a brush in over a month, and each time her fingers hit a snag she wished for one. She was so grateful that she’d had the foresight to cut it all off all those years ago. She couldn’t even imagine the hassle of trying to get by with just this crude method on her much longer civilian hairstyle.

When she could run her fingers through all the hair on her scalp without snags, Eve did a second, more cursory soaping of her body and then rinsed.

She eyed her dirty uniform in distaste, but there wasn’t any other option than to put back on her filthy clothes over her clean skin.

Eve turned the handle and shut off the water, immediately shivering as a freezing draft of wind snuck under the curtain and danced up her spine.

As she reached for her old uniform, a fresh uniform was thrust through the edge of the curtain, someone very carefully wedging the fabric open just enough to slip the clothes inside. Eve bit her lip in terror, but the curtain didn’t move any further, the uniform still proffered. Gingerly, Eve took the ODs, so grateful she couldn't even manage to voice her thanks as the hand carefully departed through the curtain, resealing the room.

She slipped into her new clothes quickly, noting how dry they were even as they slid over her wet body.

The pants were a bit too long in the leg, and definitely too big around the middle, but she used the belt of her webbing to cinch it until it stayed on.

She slid into the undershirt and then the jacket, finding a pair of socks in one pocket, and a replacement scarf and gloves in another.

Eve looked down to find that somehow someone had fished out her old boots and replaced them with winter boots. She hadn't even known they'd come in yet. Precariously, she balanced trying to get the socks on without soaking them in the still inch deep water around her feet and not step on her tokens all at the same time, before slipping them into her new boots quickly. She didn’t even bother lacing the boots up properly, wanting to get out of the shower stall before Speirs got fed up and left her there.

It wasn't likely, but the thought induced enough fear that she lit a fire under her to get finished. She made sure she grabbed the pottery and the medallion, tucking them into the corresponding pocket on her new uniform that they’d inhabited on her old one so she’d be unlikely to lose them.

Speirs was waiting for her, back to the shower stall. Eve cleared her throat as the metal rings holding the curtain up skidded across the pipe keeping it together. She felt like a new person, refreshed, and oddly content with the world now that she was clean, even if it wouldn't last very long.

-

Speirs heard the curtain opening behind him and turned.

His breath caught.

He'd forgotten how striking she could be in the right light. Had Ev’s hair always been that red in the sunlight?

Speirs shook the thought aside, thinking of his wife instead as he gave the Sergeant a smile, this time noticing the bags that still hung under her sharp blue eyes and the worry lines that marred her forehead.

He was still worried about her. She looked pale and worn. She looked like she needed to sleep for a week or so. He wished she wasn’t so stubborn and would just listen to him for her own good.

"Come on, Sergeant," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders so she wouldn't try to escape. "Let's get you to the CP and a bed."

Ev was too out of it, still likely in a daze after having a warm shower. She shivered, wet hair likely the cause of her discomfort. The captain wished he had a towel to give her, but they hadn’t been a necessary part of the showers, so command hadn’t supplied them with any.

Still, Ev seemed to be too happy about the shower to argue with him, which had been Speirs's plan all along. She didn't put up a fuss and let her Captain lead her to the CP without a word.

-

When they reached the grand house, Speirs delivered Eve into the hands of one George Luz.

At some point between when she'd left and now, the man had turned the back of the piano and the adjacent wall into a store counter where he laid out the supplies that had brought in to be counted and recorded for the inventory.

"Luz," said Speirs, lighting another cigarette. "Find her a bed?"

"You got it," said Luz, noting her still present blankets with a blinding grin. "Come on, Eve. We'll find you a place to sleep."

"I can sleep just as well in OP2 with Second," said Eve, feeling the need to protest this special treatment one last time.

"Of course you can, but you don't have to, so just take the Goddamn bed," Luz told her sternly.

The woman sighed and let Luz lead her through the CP to a bedroom with an honest to God bed in it – with sheets and a blanket and a pillow to boot.

Eve wasn't aware her fingers were moving until she felt abruptly lighter as she shed her webbing. She wasn't even sure where her helmet had gone to until she saw Luz put it on the bedside table. His light fingers plucked her rifle from her shoulder without her noticing either as she fumbled with her pack.

She collapsed onto the mattress – its springs squeaked under her weight – and fumbled with her bootlaces for a good minute before Luz finally smacked her hands out of the way and undid them himself.

Eve didn't even care. She was already lying back on the mattress, sighing in relief as her spine realigned itself for the first time in months.

Weight she'd ceased to notice slid from her foot, making it feel lighter than air. She wriggled her toes in satisfaction. The last time she'd had her boots off, she'd nearly lost a few toes to the winter snow. Now she could wiggle her entire foot without any discomfort.

She nearly fell asleep right then and there, she felt so blissful.

Luz poked her.

She groaned incoherently at him. _I just wanna sleep, Goddamn it!_

"I know, Buchanan," said Luz, because apparently she talked out loud when she was this tired. "Yes you do," he politely informed her. "Get under the covers," he insisted, and then wouldn't stop prodding her until she crawled up the bed to comply.

He yanked them out from under her whilst she was moving and then arranged them over her with a flick, adding her two blankets on top of the duvet already provided.

Eve was already asleep by the time her head hit the pillow, or she'd have sworn that Luz actually ran a hand through her damp-slick hair.

It was a ridiculous notion, so Eve attributed it to her burgeoning dream - which had absolutely nothing to do with war or death.

-

She shot up in bed, unable to breathe, gasping for air as her body heaved in tiny little breaths that accomplished nothing but increasing her panic. She couldn't slow down to draw in a proper breath.

Suddenly Gene was there, cold hands steadying her and hauling her from bed. Eve stumbled as he dragged her down the hallway to the bathroom. She hadn't even realized the CP had a bathroom, but Gene set her down on the toilet and started fiddling with the knobs on the tub.

She let out a sound that might have been a sob if she'd had the proper air to support it. Gene hurried back to her side, water flowing from the shower as hot as it could go.

"Ev!" he snapped. She was having trouble focusing on him. "Calm down, _cherie_ , breathe with me. Here we go; in." They took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds. Eve managed two before she lost the rhythm and her body reverted to the useless quick breaths, doubling her panic as she realized just how out of control she was of her own body.

She started coughing, relieved as the reflex dragged in some air; not a lot, not enough, but some.

"Ev," said Roe, grabbing her hand to give her some point of contact to focus on. "Try again with me, okay?"

Eve nodded around the coughing and tried. It was like trying to breathe through a straw. Again and again she tried and failed to drag oxygen into her body, Gene an ever calm, coaxing presence in front of her.

The steam from the shower filled the room with a warm cloud. Gradually, breathing became easier and Eve fell into synch with Gene, hand clasped in his as she finally regained control.

Eve started shaking, scared in a way she hadn't been before. Her own body, which usually did what she’d asked of it immediately after she asked, had betrayed her.

"Thanks," she rasped out after she'd managed to keep a pattern of deep breathing for several minutes. She didn't know what she'd have done if Gene hadn't been there. "How'd you even know what…"

"Captain Speirs said I should stay in the CP on account of you and Lip being sick. Luz made up a pallet in your room for me. I was just taking a nap, hope you don't mind."

"Mind?" said Eve. "Gene, I think you just saved my life."

The Cajun man let go of her hand and checked her for fever. Her recently cleaned auburn hair was tacky and sticking to her forehead with sweat.

"You still have a fever, and some kind of lung infection," he diagnosed.

"Pneumonia?" asked Eve.

"I don't think so. Might be bronchitis."

"Can penicillin treat that?" she asked.

"Maybe if you took it over a long period of time, but it's not gonna work in time for the patrol tonight."

Eve's shoulders fell in dismay. They'd draft Malarkey for sure and she wasn't certain his head was in the right place to lead. “I thought I was getting better,” she whispered. "Please, Gene, isn't there anything you can do?"

"I don't have any kind of medicine to give you, Ev, nothing the army approves of anyway."

She stared at him, catching that he was hinting at something. "Is there something you know of that the Army wouldn't approve of?"

Gene looked a little cagey. "If I can find the ingredients out here, my grandmother had a brew she made for lung sickness. Brandy and honey – if I can find it – might work. Maybe eggs too. But I don’t think I can find lemons or milk out here. It’s too cold for dandelions. I could find a most of these things in any kitchen back home, but this is the middle of winter and a warzone to boot. I won't know until I start looking.”

Eve didn't even have to think before nodding. She trusted Gene completely, even if that meant trying strange tonics. "Please," she begged. "Anything."

"All right," said Gene. He gave her shoulder a pat and left the bathroom in search of the ingredients he'd need.

Eve watched Gene leave, carefully closing the door behind him to keep the steam locked in the room. Grateful beyond words for her friend, she leaned back against the wall and tried to breathe as a wave of exhaustion swamped her again, making her entire body feel even heavier under the weight of the steam heavy air.

When the water went cold, Eve was breathing normally again and laboriously made her way back to bed.

-

A hand shook her awake, a soft deep voice drawing her from sleep saying: "Ev?"

She groaned but opened her eyes. She blinked, trying to orient herself as she found Gene's face. "Yeah?" she whispered.

"How are you feeling?" asked Gene, a steaming mug in his hand.

She gave him a look, not sure he'd seriously said that. "Don't ask stupid questions," she said, nestling deeper into the blankets.

He laughed, another voice joining him. She looked beyond Gene and saw Captain Winters, Captain Nixion, and Captain Speirs were also in the room. _Oops_ , she thought as her face flushed in embarrassment.

Her eyes found Winters as he stepped forward to just behind Gene. "Captain Winters," said Eve, sitting up, wondering if she should stand.

"Easy there, Ev," he said, a smile lightening his face. "Don't worry about getting up, I know you're tired."

Gene handed the mug to Eve now that she was sitting and could hold it properly. "It's probably best to drink this all at once," he said seriously. "Try not to taste it."

Eve looked down at the green sludge in the cup and gave the Doc an incredulous look.

Gene nodded with a smirk that was not reassuring.

 _This isn’t going to be pleasant_ , realized Eve with some dread.

"What is that?" asked Nix, who had come over to peer curiously into the mug as well.

"Cajun remedy," answered Eve.

"You got any idea what's in this Cajun remedy?" asked Nixon wickedly, able to smell the pungent odor. Eve's nose was too stopped up to really appreciate the smell and she decided without any effort that that was probably for the better.

"Not a one," she said, "and you're not going to tell me either." She aimed a glare at the still smirking Gene.

"Fair enough," he said. "Go on, before it gets cold."

Eve grimaced, scowled at the mug and brought it to her lips, tossing it back.

As the hot liquid hit her tongue, she gagged and nearly spit it up. Gene, having anticipated this, had his own hands on the mug and held it there, putting a hand at the back of her head to keep her in place. With no other options, Eve held on and swallowed for all she was worth.

"Ulgh," she said with a full body shiver when she'd finished. "That was vile." She fought to keep it in her stomach. She certainly didn't want to have to go through it twice. "Does anyone have a drink?" she pleaded, trying not to gag at the horrid aftertaste that had taken up residence on her tongue.

"Here," said Nix, handing her his canteen. She'd already taken a full mouthful before she recognized the bite of alcohol. The only positive thing about it was that it confused her taste buds enough that she could no longer taste Roe's disgusting potion. She grimaced as it went down hard, and then again as the aftertaste hit and mingled, creating its own brand of vile in her mouth.

Nix was laughing at her. Roe having seen the grimace, handed over his own canteen full of cool water with a wicked smirk of his own. She gulped it hungrily, swilling the last taste of gross out of her mouth before handing it back.

"That was cruel," she said to Nix, who was too busy chuckling to do anything but ignore her.

Captain Speirs caught her eye. "He's a bad man," he said with faux seriousness, a grin licking the side of his mouth. She glared at him, but apparently her own remembered amusement showed somehow, because he smiled back wickedly. Nixon nearly doubled over, laughter increasing two fold.

Eve rolled her eyes at the two men.

"Are you able to lead the patrol tonight?" asked Winters, cutting through the playful atmosphere. "Doc says you might be up for it by tonight, but I need you to be sure you're going up for it. There are other men who can take the patrol if you're not well enough for it."

Eve took another drink from Roe's canteen to get her thoughts in order. "Sir," said Eve. "Can I give you my answer at the debriefing at 1700? We can give the medicine some time to work."

Winters sized her up and then glanced at Roe. The medic nodded. Eve was smart enough to know how important it was for the leader of a combat patrol – particularly one venturing into enemy territory – to be completely focused and in control. An ill-timed cough could ruin the entire enterprise and get her and all of her men killed.

"All right, Sergeant, 1700," said Winters with a nod.

Eve sagged in relief. She knew it would be a kind of miracle for the medicine to completely "fix" her in less than six hours, but she didn't need to be completely better, she just needed to be able to survive the patrol without coughing. Or lie convincingly that she could do it; which she was already resolved to do whether the potion worked or not.

"Thank you, sir," she said.

"Get some rest, Ev," said Winters. "We'll let you get a bit more sleep before the patrol tonight."

With a glance at Nix and Speirs, Winters left the room. He'd need to think a bit more about the plan of attack if Buchanan wasn't leading.

The other two Captains left the room after him, Speirs with a smile.

Nixon went so far as to ruffle her hair. "Try and get some more sleep, Ev," he said, like it was a giant revelation and not already Eve's plan of attack. "Come on, Doc, let's leave the lady to her beauty sleep."

“Actually,” said Eve, remembering vividly not being able to control herself and her coughing. She didn’t want to have to go through that again, and especially not alone. “… would you mind staying, Gene?”

Gene smiled softly, “Sure thing, _cherie_ ,” he said gently.

Eve stayed awake long enough to remember Gene pulling the blanket back up to her shoulders and taking back his canteen before she slipped off into blissful sleep, imagining that she could hear the soft, soothing murmur of French prayers.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Updates are every Thursday. Shout outs to those of you who left kudos or comments. I love you all!
> 
> A couple people have asked for a reference for Eve. [This](http://kat1132.tumblr.com/post/138687823038/after-a-few-requests-here-are-the-images-ive) is the collage I've been using for Eve and her family. I claim no ownership of these images and have modified Eve's eye color to match my descriptions.


	44. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve's illness becomes dangerous as Easy Company reaches the town of Haguenau.
> 
> "Let our advance worrying become advance thinking and planning." – Winston Churchill
> 
> Now: Eve fights to go along with her men as Easy Company get's ready for a dangerous patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Serious love and respect goes to FandomlyCroft, Atman, and Laura001 who gave up their free time to make this chapter what it is. They're all amazing. All remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 44-

Eve felt like she'd only just closed her eyes before she was being roused again by someone touching her shoulder.

She sat up, eyes blurry, and was already on her feet before she recognized Sergeant Johnny Martin's level gaze. She tried to speak, but her throat burned like she'd swallowed a hot poker. She tried clearing her throat, wincing in pain at the futile action. Martin, bless his soul, offered her a canteen. She swallowed the water eagerly, wetting her throat enough to speak through the pain.  

"What's happened?" she rasped, the sound barely above a whisper despite her best efforts, as she already scrambled for her gun and boots. If Martin was waking her up, then she needed to be fully awake, and focused, right now. She did her best to hide that she was nearly swaying with exhaustion as she collected her gear from where it had fallen in her daze to get into the cloud like bed.

"Easy there, doll," said Martin reassuringly, as she tried to snap out of it, blinking heavily. "Winters sent me to wake you. It's nearly time for the debriefing on the patrol tonight."

"Are you going on the patrol?" asked Eve, confused. She didn't remember Martin being on Speirs's list.

"The new Lieutenant, what's his name-"

"Jones," inputted Eve as she pulled on her jacket, biting her lip to keep her groan of discomfort to herself.

"Yeah, him," said Martin. "He managed to convince Winters and Speirs to switch him and Malarkey."

"What?" asked Eve, pausing in dismay as she pulled her webbing over her jacket. "He doesn't have the experience to lead something like this, not on his own."

"Which is why you're still leading," agreed Martin. "I’ve been drafted in as your second instead of Malark."

Eve nodded. She trusted Martin. He had far more experience leading a platoon than she did and he was a reliable man in combat. She didn’t know him as well as she did Malarkey, but the other man deserved a rest, so she didn’t begrudge the change at all and was feeling oddly relieved by it. Malarkey definitely could use a break. They all could, but Malarkey especially.

She could tell that Martin was somewhat resigned to be going – which was fair, no one really wanted to go on another patrol – but he seemed ready for it. She would bet money that he was simply relieved that he was going as her second and that his whole Platoon hadn’t been drafted like hers was. First had suffered major casualties as well, although it hadn’t been decimated nearly as much as Second had.

As for Eve, she wanted to be in each and every mission her guys went on. There was some never-dwelled-on part of her that felt like the simple act of her being there could make a difference in bringing her guys home. It was silly, and ridiculous, but she wasn’t willing to jinx it on the off chance that it was true.

She knew, deep down that if she really needed to, Martin and the lieutenant would be fine without her. Her guys knew what to do and could do a job like this in their sleep, despite the foolish premise of this mission. Everyone knew the Krauts were on their last leg, but the Brass just had to order one last intelligence mission to make sure of it. It was a good way to get a few of her guys killed for little to no value.

She was going with them even if they had to carry her.

"Anything else change while I was sleeping?" she asked, still feeling exhausted despite the now dwindling sunlight. She must’ve gotten a few hours of sleep, and yet she felt like she’d been for a thirty mile run, including the sweat she could feel in her just cleaned hair, much to her despair.

-

"Vest decided to come along," Martin answered, watching Second’s Platoon Sergeant carefully.

Rumor had it she’d been getting sicker. He’d thought she was getting better, but apparently the Doc had taken drastic measures and concocted some unholy brew to force the reemerging sickness into remission.

To be honest, she didn’t look any better for having slept away most of the afternoon.

He didn’t know if she should run the patrol, but he didn’t have the heart, or the foolishness, to countermand Speirs on the subject.

Ev was a good commander. She did right by her guys and was dependable in the field. She’d withstood their losses in Bastogne and above Foy better than most of the guys, but he feared that she was simply better at hiding her feelings rather than having a lack of them.

Ultimately, if she was healthy, he wouldn’t have any doubts about her ability at all, but by all accounts she wasn’t.

He watched her lace up her boots. "Did you get a winter shoe pack?"

Eve glanced up at him even as she was efficiently tying the laces off. "Yes, so nice of them to finally get here now that it's almost spring."

Martin laughed. _That’s the Ev I know_.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She looked him right in the eye and lied. “Much better.” Fortunately, she was able to keep the cough scratching at her throat at bay.

Martin knew Ev. She wouldn’t purposefully endanger her guys. If she thought she was able to lead the patrol, he trusted her.

Ev straightened. "Vest, huh?" she asked as she shouldered her rifle. Though Vest had been with Easy Company since Toccoa, his sole responsibilities had been delivering mail and writing mourning reports since D-Day. As a consequence, he'd never really seen combat. "We'd better keep an eye on him too then."

Martin gave her another scrutinizing glance and put his doubts from his mind. Ev was too good a soldier to put her men in danger by going out on a patrol unfit for duty. Well, more unfit than any of them were these days.

"Yeah, him and that green-ass Lieutenant," Martin snarked instead. “Webster too.”

“Webster?” Ev said, quirking her head.

“Yeah, sorry bastard finally came back,” Martin grumbled. “I figured we’d seen the last of him when he didn’t come back for Belgium.”

“Me too,” said Ev.

“Why’d he do that, anyway?” Martin asked, half rhetorically. “Why come back after being gone so long? I mean, Perconte, what’s he been gone, a week? Strolled into the CP this afternoon, happy as a clam.”

“Really?” Ev asked incredulously as she led Martin out of the room and tromping down the stairs. “Did the aid station run out of pretty nurses again?”

Martin laughed. “How come no one knows you’re a wiseass, Ev?”

“I don’t know, Martin.”

Martin shook his head at the woman’s antics before his thoughts turned back to Webster. “You know, back at Toccoa, I actually admired the man?”

“Perconte?” Ev asked.

“Webster,” Martin corrected. “Could’a done anything he wanted, officer, stayed home, you name it, and he picked the paratroopers. I would’ve thought he had more balls than to sit pretty in some aid station while the rest of us slogged it out.”

“Maybe he didn’t think he could say no,” said Ev.

“What’da ya mean? Of course he coulda said no and gone back to the line to help his buddies. Damn near everybody else did. I didn’t figure Webster for a coward.”

Almost everyone who'd suffered an injury in Bastogne was shuttled back to the line before they'd had a chance to properly heal. There was such need on the battlefield for every last man – not to mention every last bed in the aid station – that there was a never ending stream from frontlines to aid station and back. They all felt that they had to be there, felt like it was impossible for them to stay out of the action when their buddies were out there risking their lives in the thick of it.

Ev stopped and faced him, her posture tired. “Johnny, you know Webster comes from money, right?”

“Yeah,” said Martin. “Won’t shut up about Harvard.”

“Johnny, when a doctor tells me not to do something, I listen to him because that’s just how I was raised. I figure he’s been to school long enough to know what’s best. Before all this, I’d never even think about questioning doctor’s orders.” She shrugged. “It’s different for you guys. I’ve been around Easy Company long enough to see that most of you guys flat out ignore the docs, ignore them when they tell you that you can’t do something, like it’s friendly advice. Back home you probably can’t afford to let a doctor’s advice keep you from going back to work. You can’t afford to rest up until you’re fully healed or you won’t survive until the next paycheck.”

“What’re you trying to say, Ev?” Martin demanded. He wasn’t one for flowery words and he was pretty sure she’d lost the point she’d been trying to make anyway.

He watched her mull over her answer. “I’m not saying he was right, or even that I understand why he was gone for so long, because I don’t. I guess what I’m trying to say is that Webster probably didn’t feel like he had a choice. And sure, I resent the hell out of him but what’s done is done. He did what he did and now he’s back.”

Martin was man enough to admit that Ev might have a point, but that didn't change the facts. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of soldiers had made their way back to the front when they'd been a lot more injured than Webster had been in Holland without complaint. Perconte was just the latest in a long string of men who'd rushed back from the aid station. Some like Toye hurried back only to be even more devastatingly wounded and then were evacuated only days after their return.

He couldn’t help but feel like Webster had abandoned them. When he hadn’t come back after Holland, Martin was sure the man had been more injured than he’d let on and had been sent home. Surely that was the only reason a Toccoa guy wasn’t fighting to get back to his buddies on the line. Every extra set of hands would’ve helped there towards the end, when everyone was so exhausted, especially once they’d started losing men in droves.

“I don’t want to have a fight on my hands, Johnny,” said Ev, meeting his eyes.

Martin searched her face. He had a hard time just accepting Webster back as a member of Easy. It seemed to him that Webster had milked his time away for all it was worth, spending as long as he could off the frontline. That Webster was too busy enjoying hot food, showers, and plenty of medicine to hurry back and help his friends. Webster didn't have to deal with running out of bandages or plasma or morphine, or even worse, running out of ammo and food. Webster didn't know the hell they'd been through. He never could.

If Webster had to work a little harder to regain his standing as a reliable soldier, that was just fine by Martin.

He didn’t even want to look at Webster, let alone talk to the man long enough to start a fight with him. Plus, he was Ev’s problem now.

Martin figured Ev’s request was reasonable enough. “You got it, Ev,” he said meaning it.

She nodded, and they continued on their way.

-

They hit the main floor and found Winters waiting for them.

"How are you feeling, Sergeant Buchanan?" the Captain asked.

"Ready, sir," she answered. She tried to stand up straighter and hide her still lingering exhaustion, thanking God that she hadn’t started coughing yet. Her voice still wasn’t strong, but if things went well she wouldn’t have to shout.

Winters drew her off to the side for a more private conversation. "Are you sure? Martin could handle this one without you if you’d rather rest up a bit more. Be honest with me, if you're not up for it, I need you to tell me."

Eve looked into the Captain’s blue eyes and spoke to him as frankly as she could. “I can do this, sir.”

She bore his scrutiny the way she’d born Martin’s, willing him to believe her. She didn’t know what he found, but her heart sank as he sagged.

"All right," said Winters, shocking her. "Nevertheless, I want you to try and get some more rest before the patrol."

"Yes, sir," she agreed easily. If she was being honest, she could probably do with more rest.

"And you're to tell me immediately if your condition starts to deteriorate, understand?" Winters added.

Eve nodded, accepting the terms.

Winters sighed and led Eve back over to the curious Martin standing by the door, before marching into the meeting room, the two sergeants only a step behind him.

Lieutenant Jones, upon seeing Captain Winters entering the room snapped, "Ten-hut!" rousing the seated men.

Eve hid her surprise at the Lieutenant’s formality.

She caught Liebgott's disgruntled eye roll and smiled slightly as he pried himself from the chair he'd been slouching in, sagging back down when Winters countermanded the Lieutenant with a quick: "At ease."

The men fell back into their relaxed poses, feet popping up to rest on the once beautiful table.

"Gentlemen," said Winters, nodding as he took in the assembled men.

"Sir," the men muttered back in reply.

"As you can see, we've assembled sixteen of you for this prisoner snatch tonight, at 0100. Just a couple of points," he said, looking around the room, meeting various attentive gazes as he passed. Eve wondered if she’d miscounted or if he had. By Eve's count, there were seventeen of them all together, including herself, Jones, and Martin. There were probably too many leaders going, but Eve certainly wasn't going to be the one sitting out. And since she wasn’t feeling her best, she was grateful Martin was coming to watch out for the Lieutenant and Vest. She’d worked with him often enough to know that they wouldn’t step on each other’s toes.

"We've secured four rubber boats to get you across the river. Lieutenant Jones here," Winters continued, using his hand to point out the Lieutenant, "is the ranking officer and he'll be along as an observer, but Sergeant Buchanan will lead the patrol with Sergeant Martin taking Sergeant Malarkey's place."

Eve wondered if she was the only one to catch the exchange – a sort of congratulatory look passed between friends – between Webster and Jones. Suddenly Jones's addition to the patrol made sense. Webster had probably instructed the green lieutenant in how to convince Winters to let him go, probably intending for Jones to replace Malarkey completely.

He’d inadvertently drafted Martin into the job instead; Martin, who was not pleased with going, and already didn’t like Webster.

Webster either didn't understand or didn't care that if Jones went on the patrol and tried to lead, he could get a lot of the men going with them killed. Jones didn't have the experience or knowhow for combat, and Eve didn't want him to earn it on the lives of her men, especially in light of the other illustrious West Pointers’ legacies Easy Company had encountered.

A quick glance around the room to see if anyone else had noticed had Eve’s eyes catching on Martin's furious face. The other Platoon Sergeant shifted so he could glare at Webster, arms crossed angrily as though closing the man off from the opportunity to redeem himself.

Eve watched in satisfaction as Webster flinched from Martin's wrath. While Martin was certainly capable of going on the patrol and backing her up, he'd earned a rest just as much as Malarkey had. The bags under his eyes were nearly purple from lack of sleep. He hadn't been forced into a bed like she had, and it showed.

"The whole Battalion will be covering your withdrawal." Winters continued speaking, seemingly unaware of the increased tension in the room. "I've identified targets; we planned fire for 'em.

"We hear these whistles," said the Captain, pulling out two brass whistles on chains, "we open up, so don't blow 'em till your back in the boats with your prisoners." He handed the two whistles to Eve, who passed one to Martin.

"And if the house turns out to be empty, sir?" Martin asked.

"It won't, but in any case," said Winters, "we know it's an outpost – we want it destroyed – so you'll have to lay some demo on a time delay. You have to move fast, but carefully. Put a perimeter around the house. Once that's in place, get your rifle grenades in the first floor window; get your assault team in quick," said Winters, outlining the method he wanted them to use.

Typically, it was the Company CO who got into such detailed tactics – since Battalion generally dealt with strategy – leaving the actual logistics of the plan to the men leading on the ground. But Winters was careful and looked out for Easy Company still.

Winters caught Eve's nod and wrapped it up. "Okay, good, understood. Remember, it's about prisoners. Don't pop the first thing that moves," he reminded them with a gesture for emphasis. She'd watched him lead similar patrols before, been a part of them in Market Garden more than once, so she was very familiar with what was being asked of her. "Clear?"

"Yes, sir," the assembled men answered.

Eve caught the loaded glance between Liebgott and Jackson and wondered at it, deciding to ask later.

"Good," said Winters. He looked back over each of the men. "Picked your assault team, Buchanan?"

Eve answered. She’d already decided on the team she wanted as soon as Speirs had given her the list of men going on the patrol. "McClung, Sisk, Cobb, Martin, and Webster as translator. The rest of you guys are base of fire with Sergeant Grant." She tossed Grant her whistle. Martin would keep the other one.

"You speak German," said Martin, hostile. "Right, Webster?"

"Yep," said Web, a little cocky, but clearly uncomfortable, "a little bit."

"Good," said Eve, ending Martin's attack on the man with a quelling look at the other Sergeant. He’d promised not to do this after all. Trusting Martin to behave, she turned back to Winters. "That's my team, sir."

"Questions?" asked Winters. It wasn't the bullshit toss out phrase that a lot of other officers used, either. Winters actually waited for the men to say they had none.

When the resounding, "No, sir," was spoken, Winters made the point to scan the room again, looking into Eve’s eyes when it was her turn, likely trying to memorizing faces in the event that they didn't come back. Eve did something similar herself.

"Good," he said. "Good luck." And he started to leave, clapping Eve on the arm to indicate that he wanted her to follow him.

"Thank you, sir," chorused the patrol squad as the two headed out of the room.

"Ten-hut!" said Lieutenant Jones, trying again to find some military decorum in the unit he was now leading.

Winters didn't even pause before tossing: "As you were; carry on," over his shoulder barely a second later.

Jones quickly joined them as they made their way out of the CP and into the fresh air. Eve shivered as the wind licked down her spine once more and fought off a coughing fit she absolutely could not give into right now.

She was glad Jones had the sense to follow them. He needed to be a part of the tactical conversation they were about to have if he was going to learn. She'd met some lieutenants too timid to do so. They hadn't lasted too long.

When they hit outside, Winters turned his attention on Eve, waving Speirs over to join the conference when he saw the man heading into the CP.

Eve watched Grant toss Jackson his helmet from the corner of her eye with concern as the man waited for Liebgott to come out.

She watched their interaction quietly whilst Speirs updated Winters on the rest of Easy's preparations for providing covering fire. She wondered if maybe she should put Jackson on the assault team so she could keep a better eye on him. He seemed a little distracted today, and on a patrol into enemy territory, that was asking for an injury.

"Lay it out, Sergeant," instructed Winters.

Eve did, divulging her plan of attack, including how she planned to spread out the men. "Four men to go in, four men on the left flank, four men on the right-" she was telling Winters when Webster interrupted her.

"Sir?" said Webster, cutting her off without even waiting to be acknowledged.

Almost as one, the group of officers turned to stare at the Private.

 _He’s really not going out of his way to endear himself, is he?_ Eve thought.

"Yes?" said Winters levelly.

"Liebgott and I, we both speak German," said Webster.

Eve bit her lip to control her disappointment, every negative thought suddenly confirmed about Webster. It was clear now that the man was here because he had to be.

"Yeah," said Speirs. She briefly wondered why he sounded so angry, but lost track of the thought when Webster started talking again.

"You said sixteen men, there were seventeen of us, including two translators," he said, pointing out the flaw. Eve realized it as soon as he said it – losing both of Easy's translators could cripple the Company. One of them should stay behind.

"Ah fine," said Speirs, catching Liebgott's eye as he walked by and making the call without prompting. "Hey, Liebgott, you wanna sit this one out?"

"Yes, sir!" said Liebgott with a smile. "Thanks, buddy," he tossed at Webster with a wink and a grin.

"Buchanan," said Winters, pulling her back into conversation with him. "You wanna supervise three squads…"

Eve let herself be pulled into tactics and planning and tried not to remember that her friends' lives were depending on her decisions, or how grateful she was that Liebgott would be staying behind.

-

When she finished the meeting with Winters and Speirs, going over every contingency the three of them could come up with, Eve sent Jones and Martin – who'd been a constant presence at her side since he'd woke her up about an hour ago – to go get some food and get the men ready for the patrol.

Martin left after giving her shoulder a hearty clap, nearly sending Eve to her knees with how much it threw her off balance. She fought the wave of dizziness and swallowed her nausea.

Speirs caught her as she tried to re-center herself. "Buchanan, why don't you sack out until the patrol? I'll wake you when it's time,” he said, sounding concerned.

It was where Eve knew she should be heading, but there was a lot to do before the patrol and it wasn't fair to dump all of it on Martin. She hated the notion that she might be abandoning her men like Dike had – disappearing to the CP when her guys needed her to lead them, to calm them down in the face of the upcoming patrol.

But she'd promised Winters, and honestly, she ached to just lie down and go back to sleep.

"Yes, sir," said she, giving in.

"I'll walk you back," said Speirs, "I need to check in on Lipton; the man just won't stay down. It's like every time I turn around he's found some reason not to go to bed where he should be."

Eve tried to keep her smile tucked away. Seeing Speirs fuss and worry was almost sweet, when it wasn’t directed at her, that is. "He likes being in the thick of things," she commented to keep his attention on the First Sergeant and off how she’d started to shiver. She’d never thought she’d miss having that stupid blanket cloak. "He's been looking after everybody else for so long he's probably having a rough time slowing down."

"Like some other sergeant I know," said Speirs pointedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," said Eve, eyes wide with innocence. "All the sergeants I know are perfectly behaved. Very good about staying in bed when they're told."

He snorted as they walked into the CP, gaining Lipton's attention from where he hadn't moved from his couch. Someone, probably Luz, had bundled him up again in a blanket. The First Sergeant looked a little wild eyed and groggy, but already he looked a lot better than he had this morning.

 _Maybe he got some of Gene's potion too_ , she thought.

Speirs honed in on Lipton, who was already reeling off a list of accounted for inventory. Eve heard him advising the Captain on who should get what supplies as she slipped down the hall to the room she'd been in before.

Stepping inside, she saw that Roe's pallet had been made up again, though the medic was absent, probably tending a few (foolish) men who were still trying to hide injuries from him.

The thought made Eve smile. Really, they ought to know better by now.

She shed her extraneous – and very uncomfortable – gear down to her uniform and slid into bed, pleasantly surprised that someone –probably again Luz – had changed the sheets while she'd been at the meeting. They felt crisp and clean on her skin – and they had a pinstripe pattern that she didn't remember having on her sheets this morning.

It was certainly a pleasant surprise considering how busy everyone was (no one was idle for long), and yet someone had taken the time to do something nice for her.

 _How far I've come,_ marveled Eve as she settled in the nice cool sheets. _There was a time when the men wouldn't even eat with me and now there are acts of thoughtfulness for no reason at all._

It took literally no time for Eve to fall back asleep, barely managing to yank the covers up to her chin. She hadn't bothered to take off her jacket or her scarf, valuing the warmth they brought over the possible discomfort.

Eve was too exhausted to even dream as she slipped off to sleep in a bed, in a warm house, and safe in the knowledge that no one would harm her here.

It was more than she ever thought she'd ask for again.

-

When Eve woke next, it was Captain Speirs shaking her awake.

"You need to get ready for the patrol, Sergeant," he informed her as she sat up.

Eve nodded, already fumbling to get her boots on her feet despite still being half asleep. "What time is it?"

"Midnight," said Speirs.

"Thanks for waking me, sir," said Eve with another nod to acknowledge the time. She had an hour before the patrol was going to set off and there was a lot to do before they got to the boats.

"You still up for this Sergeant?" asked Speirs, looking her over critically.

“Fresh as a daisy,” she said with a low moan as she regretfully levered herself up from the bed.

"Good to hear," said Speirs, eyeing her like he didn’t believe her, which was fine; she didn’t believe her either. "The patrol's claimed OP2's kitchen for their assembly area. They're waiting for you."

Eve grabbed her M-1 and her helmet without another word and followed Speirs out the door. She'd probably have to leave the headgear behind for the patrol; there was too much potential for noise with them, plus the shiny new paint reflected the moonlight, but it had been drilled into her too many times to never leave it behind for her to absently forget it.

On the walk, she began composing a mental list of everything she needed to accomplish in the hour she had left before the patrol.

She needed to make sure the men were clear on their jobs before they went. She had the teams already sorted out her mind. Shifty would be on point in the first squad with Popeye – the two friends always worked well together – they should be able to handle the left flank. She might put Grant with them too, just to have an extra gun on the left.

She'd stick Heffron and Martin with the new Lieutenant on the right flank. They'd have to cover the crossroad and the perimeter. She'd leave Cobb, Sisk, Garcia, and Alley with them.

That meant her entry team was McClung – who she'd have with her on point – Webster – who was her translator – Vest – whom she would need to keep an eye on – Ramirez and Jackson – both of whom she was confident could help her keep an eye on Vest.

Next, she needed to check the men for any metal or pasty white skin that might catch the moonlight and a stray German eye. They'd have to darken their new uniforms and clean skin, perhaps with soot from a fireplace since the grease paint they'd had on D-Day was long gone. Soot would also work on darkening the bright shiny metal on the new M-1s and webbing.

Eve lamented the fact that she'd only just got clean, but such was the insanity of the Army. Her cleanly laundered uniform needed the camouflage that her old one had. Unfortunately, changing back into her old uniform to protect the new one from dirt was not an option. The old one was long gone by now, and if she needed a dirty uniform, she needed to make the one she had fit that demand.

She was going to be filthy again eventually, so she might as well get used to it.

On her way to OP2, she abandoned Speirs to swing by the supply office and picked up what she could in the way of spare ammunition. Extra bullets were always needed. A lot of times a man didn't even realize how many rounds he'd gone through until he was scrambling around for more, something Eve knew all too well because she was one of the worst offenders. Besides, God only knew how long they'd be stranded over the river.

They needed all the bullets and luck they could get, and in the absence of finding a reliable source of the latter, she'd stock up on the bullets.

While at the supply office, she also got the launch-able grenade she needed for her M-1 (plus a spare, just in case) and the charges they were going to use to blow the house and some bolt cutters for when – not if – they encountered barbed wire.

A few minutes later, she entered the OP with Speirs – who'd been off running his own errands while she’d been at supply. The Captain didn't linger beyond wishing Eve and the men luck one final time before departing to ready the rest of the Company for their covering fire mission.

Eve set about darkening any exposed skin she could see, both on herself and the other men, making sure they'd gotten oft overlooked areas like the back of the neck, around the ears, and the backs of their hands.

"All right, men," she said when she'd finished overlooking their camouflage and supplies, confident they were as ready as they could be. "I want everyone to watch each other. Don't take any unnecessary risks, all right?" Eve let her gaze drag over her consummate risk takers, Jackson and Alley in particular.

"First boat will be myself, Ramirez, McClung, and Heffron. Next is: Shifty, Popeye, Grant and Alley. Then: Lieutenant Jones, Webster, Jackson, and Vest. At the rear: Cobb, Sisk, Martin and Garcia. You know your assignments for when we hit shore. Remember to wait until we've all assembled before you start to make your approach. We go in as a unit. Any questions?"

The men shook their heads in reply. She hadn't expected there to be any.

Nevertheless, she took as deep a breath as she was able and nodded. "Good luck. I'll meet you on the riverbank in fifteen minutes."

The men filed out of the room solemnly, nervous tension lining their shoulders.

Eve caught a man's arm. "McClung? Here're some bolt-cutters. Bring 'em with you."

He nodded, slipping them into his breast pocket with a smile. "Got it, Sarge."

She grinned at him, swatting him companionably on the shoulder as he passed her.

As soon as Eve was sure she was alone, she let herself sag against the wall of the OP as the weight of the patrol sank onto her shoulders and the exhaustion she was feeling tried to drag her to the ground.

She prayed to God that this mission didn't end up with her whole team on the casualty list. She prayed that the prisoners they were going after were worth it.

A tickle in the back of her throat triggered a brief cough, aching on her throat for only a moment despite being the first “productive cough she’d had yet. It took barely a moment for her to hack up the gunk that had been lingering in her throat for days now. Resolving that was the very last cough she was going to have for the evening, she spit the glob vindictively on the ground outside the door and followed her men to the river, ready to get this patrol over with.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Special shout out to those of you who took the time to review and those of you who stopped by to say hello on tumblr. You guys are all amazing.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Updates are every Thursday. See you all next week!


	45. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time: Second Platoon plans for the patrol. 
> 
> "In war, you win or lose, live or die - and the difference is just an eyelash." - Douglas MacArthur. 
> 
> Now: Second Platoon goes on a raid for prisoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001 and Atman gave their time to polishing this chapter. All my love to you both.

-Chapter 45-

Across the river, Eve could see spotlights scanning the sky for incoming bombers. She wondered why they were bothering with the pointless endeavor. She hoped no one was stupid enough to try and drop bombs on the Krauts with the 506 stationed just across the river.

A lonely flare twisted its way through the illuminated sky. The light it gave off, with that of the full moon, was enough for Eve to discern the swimmer making his way back across the river, the thick rope he'd taken across with him already tightly secured to a tree on the other bank.

Just imagining the water temperature made her bones ache all the fiercer. She was grateful that she'd missed out on being assigned that particular mission.

"Any problems?" she asked the swimmer _sotto voce_ as he made his way up the embankment.

"No problems," the man answered between gasps. "It's secured to the tree, no sign of AP mines."

"Let's go," said Eve, pitching her already weak voice to a barely audible whisper.

The veterans of Market Garden and Operation Pegasus remembered how the Canadians had trained them to get into these stupid rubber boats. Eve flattened herself on the bow and let gravity slide the boat smoothly into the water. Ramirez held the raft at the back for Heffron and McClung to get in while Eve pulled the rope from the water. Ramirez was the last one to step in, causing the boat to dip and sway under his weight.

Eve watched the other teams getting into their boats. Jones made sure he was the last one in, Eve noticed with approval. It was decisions like that that made a good leader. He was already looking after the guys.

Once the Lieutenant was settled, Eve started pulling on the rope, leaning back to offset the forward momentum. The rope passed through McClung and Ramirez's hands as the three of them towed the boat across the river – the last member of their crew, Babe, kept his rifle up in case of trouble.

"Keep it steady," Eve said to them quietly as the boat started swaying under her. By this point, their pulling had them halfway across the river. If they yanked too hard and tried to go too fast, the boat could tip.

There was a horrific splash behind her.

Eve whipped around, heart in her throat.

The last boat in line had completely flipped over. The combined motion of her and the three others in her boat nearly tipped the craft they were in as well.

Sisk was flailing about in the water, screaming that he couldn't swim. Eve watched Martin and Cobb get the man under control and back to the bank. Thank God they were still fairly close to shore.

She held her breath, watching the bank for movement – terrified that they were about to be discovered before they could even get started.

One heartbeat passed, then two.

 _Nothing_. If the Germans had heard the noise, they weren’t reacting to it that she could see. _Thank God._

Jones signaled to keep going, though nobody had stopped moving forward. She acknowledged the decision. They couldn’t afford to waste time and go back for them. They'd be going in short, but Eve was already reworking her strategy in her mind.

"Keep going," she confirmed. "Stay focused."

The boats hit the bank with no further incidents. Eve helped pull in their equipment, making sure the boats were solidly on the shore and wouldn't get tugged down river by the current.

They couldn't risk being seen so soon, so everyone stayed low to the dirt, finding makeshift cover in the piles of snow covered tree-roots and scrub.

Eve tapped McClung’s shoulder and together they belly crawled through the snow – the sharp flakes biting into her skin even through her new coat – to the barbed wire fence, the topmost of which was draped with tin cans filled with rocks make noise and alert the Krauts when disturbed. It was a tricky job, but they’d done it before. She grasped the bottom two wires, leaving the wire with the cans alone, and pulled them together, keeping one hand on her gun and her eyes scanning the area for Germans as she waited for McClung.

He was next to her a second later, already pulling the wire cutters she’d given him from his pocket. He grabbed another section of wire a few inches down from her handful, so that when he cut the section between their hands, the stray ends wouldn’t snap back and hit either of them in the face.

Eve grit her teeth as the bolt cutters made it through one – she scanned for any hidden enemy who might've heard the noise before giving McClung the okay to cut the second wire – the click-sproing of loosening tension was just loud enough for the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. If they were caught now, it was all over.

She shifted sideways, still holding onto the treacherous wire, to make a hole for the rest of the squad to go through. Jackson and Webster were the first through, Grant and Jones just behind. She tapped first Webster and then Jones when they'd cleared the wire enough to stand without rattling the cups and alerting the Krauts. McClung did the same for Grant and Jackson as they made it through on his side.

The men moved forward just far enough to reach their first checkpoint; a bombed out building little more than four corners of strategically placed rubble they could hide in until everyone made it through the wire.

When they were all gathered, Eve let out a sigh. They’d made it through the first hurdle.

Focusing on the next task, Eve scanned the terrain. "Powers, go, McClung." She waved the two scouts out. Ramirez had his gun up ready to provide cover if they were spotted.

They weren't.

Eve went next. "McClung move up," she ordered as she reached the man's cover. She hit the stacked woodpile and looked back at her squad waiting for orders.

She darted another quick look around, making sure no one had noticed their squad coming up and had started scrambling for a counter attack. Nothing.

She breathed and made the decision. "In twos, up!" she said, holding up two fingers for clarification since she could only whisper. She waved forward each pair until they'd all managed to get to the next cover, a woodpile augmented by a cart full of hay which provided enough space for the whole patrol to crouch behind comfortably.

Eve joined the last group to go.

She made her way to the middle of the group and started doling out orders. "Powers, Wynn, secure the left flank."

Shifty and Popeye didn't waste time, moving to the end of the cover that was closest to their objective and setting up to provide covering fire for their retreat.

She turned to look at Jones and Grant, who'd joined her and were waiting for orders. Jones looked terrified, which was a sharp contrast to the ever-steady Grant.

"Lieutenant, take Grant and Heffron, secure the right perimeter and the crossroads, clear?" The three men were nodding before she'd even finished. This had been in the plan she’d outlined to them all earlier.

She looked at Popeye and Shifty waiting for them both to nod, anticipation tight in her stomach as they did so almost immediately.

They were ready.

"Security out, go," she ordered, giving the hand gesture in case someone couldn't hear her.

The five men split, moving quickly to accomplish their assigned tasks.

She took a deep breath and tapped McClung on the shoulder. He was still on point. He had the spare grenade launcher in case hers misfired.

Eve was right behind him, dogging his footsteps, Jackson on her heels as they carefully, quickly, made their way to the building, darting from whatever cover they could find to the next one ahead. Occasionally, McClung twisted to see if there were any stragglers – or a Kraut who'd caught on – but he never raised the alarm, so they kept moving.

The group edged around the corner of their target building, halting just before the entry stairs in the blind-spot, too close to the building for anyone who happened to look out the windows to see them.

Eve pulled out the grenade and fitted it on her weapon. She'd made the decision to be the one to fire first. If they had to give away their presence in enemy territory, then she wanted it to be on her terms. She didn't want to risk someone else alerting the enemy too soon and fucking the whole thing up.

As she steeled herself for the shot, Eve heard the telltale rattle of a grenade behind her. She quickly eliminated McClung as the culprit, which left Jackson. He was staring at the grenade, trying to find the pin and get it settled in his hand.

Worried at the frantic look in his eye, she gave him a sharp look, trying to communicate through her eyes that he needed to settle down and start thinking.

Jackson smiled, drunk on the adrenaline coursing through him. Eve's concern grew, but she couldn't really do anything about it right now.

She took a quick glance at the rest of her squad – Ramirez, McClung and Webster were ready in the event the enemy opened up on them, and Vest – too green to do anything but watch eagerly –before she took a deep breath and aimed for the ground floor window farthest from the door.

Eve closed her eyes and took a deep breath and fired, opening Pandora's Box.

Jackson – eager to just get everything over and done with – charged by her. "Jackson! Hold on!" she called, voice cracking half in terror and half under the strain of suddenly trying to yell, as she desperately tried to seize the kid before he ran head first into grenade frag.

The window exploded in a rain of glass that nearly blinded her. She disregarded it and her own safety to get up the stairs behind the Private. She grabbed him just as he lobbed his grenade through another window, a snarl of rage on his face.

"Jackson! Wait!" she screamed again as the man slipped through her grasp like a fish and charged up the stairs.

His grenade exploded just as he reached the top, blasting the door in front of him to pieces.

The private went down in a heap with a scream, the shock of the pain finally breaking through his panic-fueled haze.

Much as she wanted to, Eve couldn't tend to him, bursting through the door herself and putting her gun on the Germans inside. She glanced at him so she wouldn’t step on him as he writhed in pain. He'd taken a lot of frag to his arm and shoulder, but it had miraculously missed his face.

She stood over the wounded man protectively, keeping her gun trained on the three scared looking Krauts in front of her. “Put down your weapons!” she barked, hoarse as she threatened them away from scrambling for their protection and knowing she had to get them subdued before they got to them.

McClung, Webster, and Ramirez entered behind her. The Krauts threw up their hands in surrender now that Webster was barking orders in a language they actually understood. Outnumbering them probably also helped expedite the situation.

Now that she had some cover, Eve started clearing the room, making sure there weren’t other enemies in hiding, waiting for a chance to kill her guys.

She knocked an automatic weapon out of an injured Kraut's reach with her boot, still barking orders just in case the Krauts started to doubt her seriousness.

"Put it down!" she yelled at one of the Germans, who'd grabbed either a Luger or his bayonet, she wasn't sure beyond that it whatever it was, it was definitely a weapon. He and his buddy threw their hands up in confusion. "Put it down and keep your hands out where I can see them!”

The kid slowly took his hands off his weapon, putting them wisely up in surrender.

“Keep those Krauts quiet, Webster!" she barked, trying to get the interpreter in gear. The Germans were making an awful racket. They only had seconds before the other Krauts figured out what was going on and started targeting the building.

He moved forward with his gun up.

Satisfied that between him and the other three Toccoa men they had the Krauts well in hand, Eve dropped to get a better look at Jackson's wound.

She turned the kid over honestly expecting the worst. He let out a small whimper of pain as she lifted him. He’d curled into a ball on the floor, protecting his injury on instinct. She shushed him quickly and tried to get a closer look.

 _Not life threatening_ , she guessed, the injury wasn't as bad as she'd been expecting.

She’d seen far, far worse injuries in Bastogne and Foy that the guys had walked away from after a stint at the aid station. If they could get him back across the river he’d survive it – or she’d know why. The kid had a lot of blood and splinters in his chest and arm, but he was cursing under his breath now and trying to bite back the tears of pain.

Her relief knocked the breath out of her.

"It's not that bad, Jackson," she reassured him. "You're gonna be fine."

A crash in the room dragged her away and helped her focus on the still underway search.

The best way she could help Jackson at this point was to finish the mission and get him back to Gene. Gene would take care of him. They had to get him to Gene.

They’d have to get back across the river to do that. They had to finish the mission.

"Vest," Eve said, selecting the man with the least experience and therefore the least likely to know what dangers to look for while guarding the prisoners, willfully ignoring Jackson’s whimper as she left him. "Take care of him."

Eve glanced at him as she issued the command and realized in an instant that it was the wrong call.

Eve had seen a lot of guys with shellshock before – enough to recognize it when someone in front of her had it. The former mailman sat down heavily and tried to comfort the bleeding Private – who'd at least had the good sense to be in pain quietly – putting his hand over the bleeding wound, and then drawing it away, staring at it, shaking as though he was the one who'd been hit. Vest didn’t move, trembling, frozen and intensely examining the blood coating his fingers as though it was all he could see.

God help them if Vest cracked out here in enemy territory. There was no telling what he'd do next.

"Ramirez, watch Vest," Eve ordered, knowing Vest was beyond hearing her right now, beyond obeying orders, lost in his own head. She couldn't risk the danger he posed to Jackson, so Ramirez – by virtue of being closest to Vest and Jackson – was going to have to babysit him until they were back across the river and Eve could get him off the line.

"Webster, let's go!" she said forcing herself to focus on the prisoners. She pushed Webster towards them, ordering, "Split 'em up, come on," to hurry him along.

Webster went, pushing the Krauts away from each other and their fallen friend, focusing on the man who’d grabbed a weapon. It was a cacophony of sound as everyone shouted to be heard, three different German voices trying to say " _Nicht schießen_!" and all manner of other things all at once, Webster trying to get them to listen to him and obey, and added her voice to the fray. "Webster, check 'em for weapons!"

“Disarm ‘em!” someone else cried.

Eve felt dread creeping down her spine with every second that passed, with every cry from the prisoners. Who knew what they were saying? If they were calling for help? A few of them looked injured, one still lying on the floor, but Eve didn't have the time to spare to bandage Jackson, let alone a wounded prisoner.

“McClung! Cover ‘em!” she ordered.

Eve pulled off the bag she’d stashed the charges in and tossed it on the table in front of her. "Webster, take the charges, prime it, and bury it!" she ordered the man, now that McClung had taken over watching the Krauts.

He whirled and started setting up the explosives, tucking the first furniture he could find, a beautiful armoire that had seen better days.

The two healthy prisoners were still babbling.

"Shut up you two! Pick him up!" she ordered, feeling her voice start to give under the strain. The Krauts did neither, one was on his knees by his wounded friend while the other tried to reason with her, hands in front of him in submission – expecting to die even as they pleaded to be spared. Taking a hand precariously off her M-1, she gestured at the wounded man, trying to get them to understand.

"McClung!" she called. The man got behind the Krauts so he could prod them forward when the time came – a time that was fast approaching. "These two are going to carry the wounded Kraut! Webster! Tell them!"

Webster tried, but it came out more English than German as he dedicated most of his focus – understandably – to the bomb in his hands.

Whether it was what Webster was saying, McClung jabbing one of the Germans in the back, or just common sense, the two prisoners picked up their injured friend.

"Ramirez, pick up Jackson!" Eve barked, sparing a glance at the man. He’d kept his narrow eyed focus on the Germans the whole time, M-1 leveled and ready to fire at the slightest show of force from their prisoners. He didn’t look like he’d lowered his gun even once since he’d walked into the room, body tense with nerves.

Part of her felt better knowing that he’d been ready to cover them, but she'd told Ramirez to watch Vest.

And Vest was still cradling Jackson, staring blankly at his hand.

Ramirez pushed the bewildered mailman away and pulled Jackson up, flinging the man over his shoulder.

Eve scanned the room once more, trying to ignore the blood streaming down the injured Kraut's face and his buddies reassuring him or protesting she wasn’t sure.

“Shut up,” she commanded. “Come on, we all go together. Are you ready?" she asked. Her eyes flicked to Vest, who was at least standing now even if he still looked like he had no idea what was going on, to Webster who was winding the detonation wire around the last of the charges, to McClung who nodded – he was ready to move with the prisoners.

“Once we get outside it’s going to be a shit storm. We need to be ready to run. We all move together,” she commanded.

She could hear the gunfire outside picking up, the stray shots of hours past now finding a focus as the Germans outside narrowed in on the rest of her squad.

Webster nodded, tucking the finally finished charges away.

"Let's move out!" she called, voice breaking. "Move, move!"

Ramirez, with Jackson over his shoulder and still somehow herding Vest along, went out first, then the Krauts with McClung. Eve dogged Webster and went out last.

They clattered down the stairs, meeting up at the bottom.

As she hit the top of the stairs outside, she saw Shifty pop up, standing braced while he exchanged fire with someone hidden by the building.

"Powers, fall back," she snapped, voice sounding much louder in the open air. "We're moving out!"

Shifty joined their group an instant later just as they made it to the bottom of the stairs.

"McClung, keep those prisoners' heads down and let’s keep moving!" she ordered, sending him and the prisoners off first. Shifty grabbed Vest, seeing what she had immediately and towing the mailman along. A push to his shoulder sent Ramirez just behind. Eve wanted their most valuable, vulnerable people going first while she and the other able bodied soldiers held the rear and took over the covering fire.

Shifty would take care of Vest and keep the man out of trouble. Ramirez would more likely drop his gun than drop Jackson.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Popeye still taking shots. "Wynn!" she called. “Fall back! We're moving out, let's go!"

He was up and moving to join them the second she finished.

Eve tried to keep everyone together, tried to spot all her men as she and her team headed back for the river, but it was a free-for-all as the Germans, finally having a moving target out in the open, set their sights on the fleeing squad and started firing in force.

"We're falling back!" Eve called out, giving up on spotting the men in their well chosen hiding spots. "Covering Fire!"

Grant and Jones opened up on their right, trying their best to suppress the Germans' firing, but they had very little effect. They were overwhelmingly outnumbered. Eve did her best to keep her head down, but she couldn't stop looking for the rest of her squad, who'd hidden themselves behind cover.

They made it to a fence that seemed to be the line Grant and Jones had chosen as their main position.

"Heffron!" she called spotting the man as she was passing. "I want you to fall back now! Let’s go!”

He obeyed.

Eve kept moving. She couldn't be last this time; she had to count everyone to make sure they all got back across the river. She had to be the first to know if someone didn't make it.

"Keep those men moving!" she called as the prisoners tripped on something, almost toppling the whole group of them to the ground.

She saw Jones, crouching in the dirt and tossed her whistle to him, having grabbed on to it somehow in the fray. "Lieutenant, take the whistle!" she ordered, giving him a task to get him in gear.

If the whistle blew too soon, their battalion would open up on the enemy too early and hit her squad in the crossfire. She kept going and prayed that he was as competent as she hoped he was.

"Go!" she called, saying whatever came to mind to keep her men going forward as fast as they could. “Stay low, keep moving!”

The thundering roar and the ensuing cloud of smoke from the earth’s newest gaping wound shook the ground. Heavy artillery had started, mortars aimed right for them and barely missing the line. If the Germans had half the skill of the Americans by this point in the war, the next shot wouldn’t miss.

 

-

Liebgott watched the lights across the river, trying to track the movements of Ev’s squad as they returned fire, knowing she was among the crouching men running precariously back under the firing Germans.

He never thought he’d regret giving up his spot to Webster.

There was a tight knot in his stomach.

He should’ve gone with them. He should be out there, covering for her instead of sitting here, waiting for a goddamn whistle to help.

He could see the great gouts of earth pluming into the sky in the revealing silver light of the full moon.

The first terrifying shell became a never-ending bombardment, gouging the earth amidst the squad.

It was agony sitting here, watching his friends scramble for their lives and praying fervently that they were all right.

“Come on, Ev,” he whispered, his grip tight around the machine gun he’d been put on, gloves feeling damp with sweat on the cold gun.

A hail of bullets came flying as the Germans really opened up, the whole battalion over there honing in on this friends, the occasional stray heading across the river as well.

“Jesus Christ, come on,” he said, yelling at Ev like she could hear him. “Blow the Goddamn whistle!”

As though she heard him, the shrill cry went up.

He opened fire, welcoming the bullets that were coming at him for the first time in his life. If they were coming for him, they weren’t hitting Ev’s group below.

He poured on the heat as more frantic shrieking from the whistle came up.

He would kill her himself if she wasn’t all right at the end of this.

-

The squad slammed through the barbed wire lining the bank, pulling the posts clean up in their momentum.

They’d made it to the bank. Eve counted quickly, frantically making sure they hadn’t missed someone.

“Okay, everybody!” she hollered. “Get in the boats. Right now!”

They were a boat short and had three extra people. Eve quickly pushed people towards the boat she wanted them in. She made sure Jackson and the injured Kraut made it in one boat together.

Vest was ranting hysterically, screaming at the Krauts, "I'm gonna shoot you, you fucking Kraut!"

She knocked the gun from his hand, confiscating it even as she tried to explain. "Vest, if you kill them we have to get more!"

He wouldn't listen, still screaming and crying to boot in his panic. She pushed him into Heffron. The redhead grabbed him. "Get him in the boat and keep him from the Krauts,” she ordered. “Sit on him if you have to!"

She didn’t bother waiting for Babe to nod, knowing that he would obey.

She separated the uninjured prisoners, one in Shifty's boat, one in her old boat with Vest. Eve situated herself in with Jackson and the injured one. They’d be the first boat across.

As soon as the Lieutenant jumped in her boat, the last of the men she was waiting for, she called “GO!” and they were hauling ass back across the river to safety and medical attention.

Seeker rounds and the shrill whine of rail gun bullets whizzed overhead. Eve did everything in her power to avoid being hit so late in the game.

 _One stray round through any of these boats and we’ll have a massive problem_ , Eve thought frantically, before casting the thought aside. Idle panic and speculation were of no use here. Best not to worry about a problem she didn’t have yet when there were plenty of others to focus on.

Mortar rounds crashed into the river, causing tidal waves that threatened to topple their flimsy boats as they hauled themselves back over the meeting.

Fortunately, the Battalion was a good distraction for their German counterparts, drawing the majority of the bullets as their heavy artillery tried to recalibrate and hit across the river.

By some act of God, the patrol managed to make it back across the river unscathed.

Waiting for them were several Easy Company men, who helped pull in the boats.

It was a mad scramble trying to get off the icy bank. Men fell as they tried to get up and out of the unsteady rubber crafts with all their gear. Some poor bastards fell out of the boats, getting soaked as they climbed over each other to get out of the line of fire.

“Everyone off the boats!” she cried hoarsely. “Let’s go!”

Another mortar blast hit the river, splashing icy water onto Eve as she tried to haul Jackson to shore. Someone helped her, grabbing his shoulders while she pushed at his feet. She didn’t know who grabbed him afterwards, trusting they knew enough to see that he was injured and not hurt him further.

Eve flinched as another booming mortar blast hit the river, scanning the river for anyone they’d left behind or anyone who needed help.

She saw Shifty and Webster helping the injured Kraut along. McClung and Martin herding the healthy prisoners as they headed back through Haguenau to their rendezvous point in the same building that acted as their staging area.

They burst through the door.

"We've got wounded!" she barked.

The men from the fourth boat – the one that had tipped over – jumped to their feet and started clearing off the table.

“Put him here,” she snapped at Ramirez and Vest, the two men supporting Jackson between them.

They obeyed, quickly laying the injured man out on the hard wooden surface.

Martin covered him with a blanket while Eve snapped orders at the rest of the patrol filing in behind them. "Shifty, put the injured one back there. Popeye, contain the prisoners back there. Shake 'em down for weapons!"

The men did what they were told without question, but everywhere else, it was pandemonium as the men struggled to find something productive to do and instead fell into a mob-like mentality of violence towards the prisoners.

"McClung!" called Eve.

"Yes, Sarge!"

"Report to the CP. Tell 'em what we got!"

The men not searching the prisoners were crowding around Jackson, fumbling with his aid kit to try and stop some of the bleeding, the scene was eerily similar to ones she’d seen before but for one difference.

Vest was spewing nonsense. "I can’t do this, I can’t do this. You're gonna fucking die, Jackson! He’s gonna fucking die!" the supply officer babbled in a panic, again and again.

Eve needed to shut him up. He would make the bad situation worse. Sometimes half the key to surviving was believing that it was possible.

She grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him away, marching him to a chair out of the way and forcing him into it. "Sit down and shut up!" she ordered. She looked around and selected the first person she saw to be his babysitter. "Hey Shifty! Watch Vest!"

She trusted Shifty to do as he was told because she already moving back to Jackson.

The man nodded, but didn't take his eyes – or his gun – off the prisoners.

"Martin," said Eve as she reclaimed her position by Jackson.

He looked at her from where he’d been helping guard the prisoners. "Go get a medic."

Martin gave her a nod and left – eyes straying to Jackson's sobbing form as he passed. He froze by the Lieutenant who was watching the chaos, not close enough to enter the fray, but just watching helplessly.

"Lieutenant, watch Vest," he said, giving the man something to do.

Eve approved. Since the Lieutenant had only been here a day, he wasn't likely to go easy on the man and let him misbehave. And Vest was completely out of control.

She didn’t have time to talk the man down, she had to undo the damage that Vest had done and calm Jackson down before he panicked, thinking the damage was worse than she thought it was, and gave up fighting to live.

"Shh," she crooned. "You're gonna be fine. It's not that bad. Vest doesn't know what he's talking about, right? Roe'll be here soon with some morphine and then you won’t even feel it. This is just a scratch. Just keep calm, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

Jackson’s hand found hers and squeezed, maybe in acknowledgment or maybe in agony. He let out a cry as Sisk jostled him, trying to get a bandage over what was the worst of it at his shoulder, the bandage digging the shards of the shrapnel deeper into his wounds.

"I'm gonna kill you Krauts!" Vest cried brokenly somewhere behind her.

She whirled. Vest had a pistol and threw himself from the chair towards the prisoners, barreling into the men guarding them from behind and putting them all in danger.

If Vest killed one of them, there’d be hell to pay and not just in the form of a court martial. She’d kill him herself if they had to go back across the river again because Vest lost his head and became a bloodthirsty psychopath for anything in a German uniform.

Before she needed to intervene, Lieutenant Jones stripped Vest of his weapons with brisk efficiency, pinning the man back to his chair with Shifty’s help.

Vest contained, Jones hauled one of the agitated guards off a prisoner.

"We're not gonna go get more because you killed one!" he snapped, flinging McClung back to keep it from happening.

Eve made note to talk to McClung about the proper care of prisoners when Jackson wasn't bleeding out in front of her.

"Where the fuck is the medic!" cried Webster. Eve turned back to Jackson and found the kid’s hand once more.

As though summoned, Gene appeared, pushing her gently to the side to get a look at Jackson. His calming presence soothed the tension in the room. "All right, Jackson," said Roe softly. "Shh! You're gonna be okay."

A flood of fresh tears welled down the man's eyes.

Eve backed up, knowing without a doubt now that Gene was here, that Jackson was gonna be okay.

"Light, I need some light. Gimme some light!" insisted Gene, needing to check the man's pupils.

Sisk whipped out his lighter and held it close to Jackson's pupils so Roe could watch for a concussion. He next checked the kid’s airways for obstruction.

It was when his fingers were in Jackson's mouth that the sob the kid had been holding back came forth.

After a moment, Gene straightened. "All right," he said to stretcher bearers Eve hadn't even noticed. "Let's get him out of here."

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson confessed as Babe helped the stretcher bearers lift him onto the stretcher.

"It's okay, Jackson," consoled Babe.

"You're not gonna die, Jackson," Gene said firmly.

An explosion shook the ground. The stretcher bearers stumbled. Jackson hit the floor with a loud cry. “I don’t wanna die!” he cried again.

Eve was frustrated and angry that he was being so pessimistic. She needed him to believe he was going to get better, to come back from the aid station just fine.

She’d had enough.

"Eugene Jackson!" she snarled, her torn voice commanding the attention of the suddenly calm room.

His eyes snapped to hers instinctively. She was using the same tone she’d used when she was teaching him how to shoot properly, the “ _listen up or else_ ” one when he was about to shoot himself in the foot out of sheer stupidity.

She gripped the man on either side of his face, forcing him to hold her gaze. "You are not going to die, you hear me? It's not that bad. You're going to go to that aid station with Gene quietly and when you're healed up, you'll get your ass back here. You are not to leave me to flirt with all the pretty nurses you’re going to see. Understand? You’ll be back in no time, or I’ll know why!"

He swallowed around his sobs, choking them down. "Yes, ma'am," he finally said around his tears.

"Good," she said, “Don’t you forget. I expect you to report back when you’re back in shape.”

She waited for him to give her a nod before she let him go and gave a nod of her own to the stretcher bearers.

They picked up the stretcher carefully and took him away.

Eve took a deep breath in relief and started coughing. It was mercifully short despite sounding like it was clawing its way out from deep in her chest.

When she sat back up, she realized Gene’s cool hands were on her back and neck. She breathed carefully in relief.

-

Gene watched Ev cough, pursing his lips in concern as she doubled over, her body quivering with the force of her spasms.

The tonic he’d given her this afternoon should’ve lasted a bit longer, but it was no surprise that she was feeling short of breath after such a harrowing day.

When she finally stopped, he noticed that at some point she’d started leaning on him, something he knew she’d probably be mortified about later.

He was grateful they were already sitting. She looked exhausted to his eyes, like butter scraped over too much bread.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, concerned.

He could feel the eyes of all the men who’d gone on the patrol with her burning into his back as they both pretended not to pay attention and were riveted to the scene.

She opened her eyes, lashes damp with tears that she hadn’t let fall. “Glad it’s over,” she said, voice nothing more than a harsh rasp. She swallowed harshly, and panted for breath once more. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” she asked.

“He’ll be fine, Ev,” he promised. “We just gotta get him to the aid station. The doctors there will put him to rights, you’ll see.”

She seemed to sag, like a weight had been lifted. “Thanks, Gene,” she whispered.

“I’m gonna go make sure the aid station knows what’s wrong with him,” said Roe. He was about to do just that when she caught his arm.

"I just remembered,” she said. “One of the prisoners is wounded too."

"Where?” asked Gene.

Ev stood up with a groan and led him back to where the prisoners had decided to stand in front of their wounded man, offering him what protection they could. They moved aside easily enough when they spotted Gene's red-cross.

They started babbling to him in German, trying to explain what was wrong. Of course, Gene didn't understand any more of it than he would’ve Japanese.

"Webster? What's he saying?" asked Ev.

The dark haired man stepped forward as she called his name. He’d been loitering in the background with the rest of the patrol, watching them take over the chaotic situation.

"He's saying that his friend's nose is broken, and his leg, maybe a few ribs as well. He got caught in the first blast,” Webster listed.

Roe checked the man over, looking at his pupils for dilation and then listening to his chest for breathing issues. The man had neither from what Roe could tell, and his ribs were indeed tender looking. The nose was mostly superficial, but the leg – when Gene rolled up the man's pants for a better look – wasn't broken, it was shattered. He might lose it.

"Does he have an aid kit?" asked Roe.

Webster translated. One of the other prisoners fished it out and passed it over.

Roe extracted what must’ve been the morphine syrette and gave it to the man. There wasn't much use for the bandage in this particular case so he tucked it away. "Babe,” he said, remembering seeing the redhead when he was taking care of Jackson. “Can you go get another stretcher for this man?"

Babe went without complaint.

"All right," said Roe. "Ev, you stay here and wait for 'em, I'm gonna go make sure Jackson's all right."

Ev nodded.

Roe turned away, scanning the soldiers for someone and spying Martin. The other Platoon Sergeant had led him here and then stayed out of his way. Roe supposed he was as good a candidate as any. He pulled the man to the side and whispered, “Make sure she gets back to the CP. A real bed might help her more than anything else.”

Martin met his eyes and nodded.

-

Eve hadn't needed any more proof that Gene Roe was a good man, but his tender care of the wounded enemy certainly confirmed it.

"You'll be all right," she promised the injured prisoner. Already, he looked like he was experiencing the fuzziness that came along with morphine. "Webster,” she said to the still lurking man, “Let him know?"

Webster did. It didn't change the wounded man's disposition any, but his friends lost some of the tension that had lined their postures, suddenly becoming much more submissive and amiable to their situation. Apparently, neither of the healthy prisoners was inclined to try anything that might get their friend's care rescinded.

Eve stood by the prisoners – waiting patiently for the stretcher for the prisoner to come – a line of defense between them and the rest of her patrol.

She kept her focus mainly on Vest who'd started sobbing in his chair at some point. It took a while for the new stretcher bearers to come in, but no one had been inclined to speak and disturb the quiet. She noticed vaguely that Cobb was drinking straight out of a bottle of wine he must've scrounged from somewhere and resolved to stay away from him for a while.

She already didn’t feel well and honestly the last thing she needed was to deal with a drunk Cobb.

The rest of the men watched the prisoners, ready to arm themselves at the slightest provocation. Eve honestly wasn’t sure if her proximity was helping or hindering that instinct, but she wasn’t going to move.

She was too exhausted for this bullshit. She didn’t like Germans any more than the next man, but she’d be damned if she was going back across the river for more.

It was a long, tense ten minutes before the stretcher finally arrived.

Webster and Shifty helped lift the wounded German onto the stretcher – Webster babbling comfortingly to the other prisoners as the stretcher left with its load.

As the boys finally left, Eve sagged, feeling like her strings had been cut. She'd finished her mission. Eve sat down at one of the benches at the table heavily and put her head in her hands.

It hadn't been smooth or perfect by any means, but somehow they'd managed to accomplish their goal. They had not one, but three prisoners for interrogation. Eve didn't know whether to laugh or cry; before she could make up her mind about which was more appropriate for the situation, she fell asleep right there on the table.

-

“She’s asleep,” said Babe. He’d been elected to be the one to see what was going on.

“What do we do?” said McClung. “Do we leave her?”

Everyone looked at Martin. He was in charge now that Ev was out of it. “Leave her alone,” he ordered. They weren’t planning on moving the prisoners at all until tomorrow morning, just in case. Winters and Speirs were still tied up monitoring the bank for a counter assault and would be until dawn at the very least.

Babe nodded and got up carefully to not disturb her.

Skinny Sisk draped his blanket over the woman’s shoulders.

There were no more interruptions or disturbances apart from the occasional shell from the German side of the river, hoping to get lucky, and which Ev slept through easily. No one wanted to wake her so everyone inside the OP was on their best behavior.

It took about an hour for Roe to come back to the OP, obviously looking for her. In his wake was Liebgott. The San Franciscan’s scowl melted when he saw the slumbering Sergeant.

“We didn’t want to wake her, Doc,” said Babe as he watched the two men cross the room to her side.

“We’ve got it, Heffron,” Gene said, settling next to Ev.

-

Eve moaned as someone shook her. Groaning in protest, she came back to consciousness long enough to mumble incoherently at the bastard waking her up.

"Com'on, Ev," said Gene's soft voice. "Let's get you to a bed."

"Leave me alone, Gene," she whined trying to get back to the illusive dreamless state she'd been in moments before.

"Come on, sleepyhead," said Liebgott adopting a cajoling tone. "Don't make me carry you."

Eve pouted. _I’m comfortable!_ she thought with a whine.

"Yeah, come on, let's go," said Liebgott. He pulled Eve up, and ignored her wincing and whining.

The two of them half carried half frog-marched her to the CP before they let her slump into a bed.

She grumbled and grabbed the blanket someone had pulled over her shoulders, not wanting to admit that she _was_ more comfortable now that she was in a bed. A warm hand brushed down her hair and she smiled as the door shut and the pallet on the floor rustled.

She was glad she had such good friends.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates are every Thursday. Big thanks to the those of you who left Kudos or Commented.


	46. Promotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Second Platoon goes across the river for prisoners.
> 
> "There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt." – Erma Bombeck
> 
> Now: Easy Company braces itself for another patrol and there are a few promotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: This week's chapter was brought to you by Laura001, FandomlyCroft, and Atman, who are just wonderful for dedicating their free time to making this chapter shine. All remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 46-

Martin woke her up with the early dawn light, shaking her shoulder until she roused. It was a trial pulling herself from bed. She felt like she needed to go back to sleep for another week or two. 

She spared a glance back at the bed as they left the room and grimaced at the black stained sheets. It was only now, that she remembered that she hadn’t bothered cleaning off the soot from last night. She was so used to being filthy, she hadn’t even realized. Her clean sheets had paid the price. 

She laced up her boots under Martin’s eagle eyes. 

“Feeling better?” he asked.

She didn’t. “Much,” she lied. “How’re the boys?” 

“Eager to get rid of these prisoners.”

“Well, let’s get to it then.”

Eve and Martin took the prisoners from McClung and Shifty, who’d taken the last watch. She sent Martin to gather Webster for translation purposes and Jones for educational ones while she quickly filled out the paperwork required for prisoner transfer. 

Within five minutes, they were ready to deliver the remaining two German prisoners and the paperwork to Winters, Nixon, Speirs, and the MPs for transport.

Eve kept the paperwork in hand as she led the small column with Lieutenant Jones at her side. Behind them, the two prisoners had their hands clasped on the back of their heads – Martin behind them with Webster, who was giving the prisoners orders in German, ready to shoot them if they tried anything. 

Upon seeing Nixon, Eve held out the paperwork for him. He tucked it away in the stack of other papers and watched the MPs load the Germans into the back of the same type of covered truck that they’d used to get to Bastogne.

She didn’t bother watching them clamber up into the vehicle. The MPs had it well in hand. 

Eve took a few steps until she was standing in front of Captain Winters. Speirs was off to the side, but it had been Winters’s plan, Winters’s operation, and her report should go to Winters first. 

She waited for Winters to acknowledge her, searching his face. He seemed troubled by something, but it wasn't her place to ask. She noted the way his gaze flicked to Jones before she was pinned in place by his bright blue eyes. 

"Status?" Winters asked once the prisoners were loaded up. 

Eve held his gaze. "Private Jackson took a grenade frag rushing the enemy OP.” 

Winters's eyes flicked away. 

"It was his own grenade,” she admitted when he’d turned back to her. She tried to hide her own guilt. She should’ve held on to him better, should’ve kept him back. She’d seen how anxious he was. She’d foolishly thought that he would listen to her. 

"Doc Roe said he's gonna be okay, sir," offered Jones, pulling her from her thoughts. 

Winters's eyes flicked to Jones for a brief moment in acknowledgement before he turned back to Eve for verification. She nodded as well, and the tension that had mounted between his shoulders eased slightly. 

"Any others?" asked Winters, looking down to brace himself for bad news.

"No, sir,” Eve said, relieved that she could give the Captain a bit of good news. 

Winters looked her over. She wondered what he saw. If he saw her guilt as plainly as she felt it, or if he could see how tired she was still. She wondered if he thought she’d failed. She felt like she’d failed. She always felt that way when she lost a man in her command. She’d been with Jackson for a long time, long enough that she considered him a friend. 

"Well executed," he finally said. “It's not your fault."

Eve swallowed the lump in her throat and felt some of her guilt lift; not all of it, but enough that she could look him in the eyes again. She also hadn't missed the way Winters’s tone implied that he thought it was his own fault, but chose not to comment.

The truck started up, distracting Eve enough for her to watch Nixon climb up and settle next to the prisoners. He gave Eve a quick smile when he caught her watching. 

The truck pulled out, taking him and the prisoners off to Regimental CP. 

“Have you talked to your men?” Winters said, pulling her attention back to him. 

“I did, sir,” said Martin. 

Eve flicked her gaze to the man. Somehow, both he and Jones had ended up flanking her. I must’ve been sleeping and missed it, she thought, remiss.

She just wished that they hadn’t also needed to pick up her slack. 

She had to get better soon. 

"All right, carry on,” said Winters, dismissing them. 

Eve nodded turning to go, Martin and Jones in step behind her. 

"Buchanan, would you stay behind?" he called. 

Eve stopped. After looking at her for a nod of confirmation – something she appreciated but ultimately found unnecessary – Martin and Jones took Webster – who'd been smoking and watching the exchange on the outskirts now that the Germans had departed – and headed back to the OP.

"Yes, sir?" she asked when they’d gone, confused as to why she'd been asked to stay behind.

"Buchanan, how do you think it went?" probed Winters. 

Eve shrugged a little self-consciously looking at Speirs to see if he knew what Winters wanted her to say. "We could've done better," she admitted. "One of the boats flipped, so getting the prisoners back was more difficult than anticipated."

"If we were to run another patrol tonight," asked Winters, "what would you change?"

Eve scratched her brow and thought about it, trying to hide her mounting anxiety. “I think you should take the same men and run it the same way. The men will be more careful about the boats and more on the guard after Jackson. We’ll have to go deeper into enemy territory, especially since the building we hit last night is set to blow sometime today. I’m not sure we’d be able to get the wounded back in time for medical attention. And the probability of casualties is going to be exponentially higher. The Krauts will be on high alert after last night. Honestly, sir, we should wait a while. If something went wrong, if we got caught out, we’d lose a lot of men, maybe the whole squad.”

She felt sick just thinking about it. 

Winters looked her over again, and she wondered once more what he was looking for, what he saw. "Thank you, Sergeant,” he said, inscrutably. “That will be all. I'll read your report on the patrol tonight."

"Sir," said Eve, saluting Winters and Speirs before she headed for the OP herself, feeling like her stomach was somewhere near her shoes. Christ, she thought with despair, another patrol. Isn't the war supposed to be over?

Eve walked through the decimated town in a daze, feeling dread creep deeper and deeper into her bones every time she thought about the implications of her conversation. 

She was going to lose a lot of men tonight. 

Especially if anyone else got anxious the way Jackson had. She was convinced that if he’d had less time to dwell on the patrol, he would have been far more careful. 

Besides, scuttlebutt being what it was, her guys probably already knew about it. 

Still thinking about Jackson – almost without conscious consent – she found herself outside the aid-station. 

Upon walking in, she was sharply reminded why she avoided aid-stations. The stench nearly bowled her over. A sea of red stained bandages and screaming men, stretched before her in the thick air as row upon row of cots were filled with wailing youths. 

She spotted Gene talking with one of the surgeons. Somehow the man seemed to sense her presence because he looked right at her and then pointed. Eve followed the line with her gaze to a bed holding Private Jackson, bare-chested and swaddled in bandages.

She gave Gene a smile and went to go sit with the kid, relieved that she'd been right about the wound. He was gonna live.

He was awake and smiled at her as she approached the bed, dragging a stool with her to sit on.

"Sergeant," Jackson greeted with a smile. "What're you doing here?"

She smiled back, trying not to show how she couldn't breathe through her nose through the stench. "Thought I'd come check on you," she said.

"You're lucky," drawled Roe from behind her. "She don't do that for just anybody."

"He's right," said Eve. "You can thank me by getting better and getting back to the line on the double, Private."

"Miss my sharp shooting already, Sarge?" the boy asked with a cheeky smile.

Eve gave him a look that was too much of a smile to be a glare. He laughed at her, only wincing a little as it jarred his shoulder. 

She caught his grimace, remembering the pain she'd been in after hurting her shoulder a lifetime ago in Toccoa. Eve quietly shared the story of her dismal attempts at hand to hand with the laid up man, embellishing how Roe had graciously taken her under his wing while she healed – like an overprotective hen.

"It took months to heal properly. It's how I learned to shoot left-handed," she told him.

Jackson laughed. "I'd always wondered why you could shoot with either hand! Every time I asked you swore you'd never tell me. Why’d you change your mind?"

Eve smiled. "Well, now you might have to learn how yourself. I just wanted to make sure you knew it can be done." Her smile turned a little more mischievous. "And so I can lord it over you while I'm training you to shoot all over again."

After that, the visit went so well that Eve didn't even notice the smell or screams any more.

-

"So he knows we lost a man?" Winters asked Nixon.

His friend was standing somewhere behind his shoulder but Winters couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the building across the river, the same building that Buchanan’s squad hit last night. Though the sun was only just beginning its downward journey to the horizon, within Winters's mind it was already dark with tracer rounds being rapidly exchanged and a patrol of fifteen men and a woman caught between it all.

For the first time in a long time, Winters was having serious doubts about the orders he was being given. Buchanan’s assessment weighed heavily on his mind. She hadn’t said anything he hadn’t already been thinking, but hearing his own fears from another source made him more inclined to be pay attention to them. 

Besides, it was due to Buchanan and Easy Company that the patrol had gone as well as it had. It was a miracle there hadn't been any KIA and only one casualty.

"Yeah, he knows,” Nixon answered. “He also knows that you picked up three prisoners who talked."

"Talked about what?" Winters demanded. What could be so important? No one would trust a grunt with anything of real strategic value, after all, in fear of just this scenario. 

"OB," answered Nixon with a sigh. "Uh, supply trouble, Hitler's favorite color?"

Winters rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, looking back at his friend in distaste.

"I don't know," admitted Nixon exasperated, confirming Winters’s theory. Nixon would be among the first to know about credible intelligence. "None of it gets us across the river."

"What's the point?" Winters said, pointedly staring at Nixon, hoping the intelligence officer would be able to offer insight as to why he was under orders to send sixteen of his men on a suicide run for more prisoners who had very little real information to offer.

Nixon sighed took a step closer to confide, "Honestly? Sink's been on the phone all day bragging it up." The buzz of a high altitude aircraft muted the man’s voice even further. "I think he's just showing off now."

Winters tracked the plane's course with his eyes, and then scanned the German bank for the anti-aircraft guns that had started firing.

"I don't know, Dick," said Nixon shifting. "I don't know what to tell you."

He looked over at his friend, took in the lines of stress and fatigue. "You gave him a successful patrol and now he wants two."

"Successful," said Winters scornfully. A man had been wounded on a patrol to capture prisoners who'd given them information they already had. Hardly what I’d call “successful.”

Captain Speirs joined them, his incoming footsteps discernible from the gravel crunching beneath his feet.

"Sir?" said Speirs, drawing Winters's attention. "The men are mustered. If you want me to debrief them, I'm gonna." The man’s grimace might’ve been meant as a smile. "So, same roster as last night? Well, mostly," he amended, voice too level.

Winters nodded, thinking not only of Jackson who was laid up at the aid station, but also of Vest – who clearly needed some time off the line to recuperate from his shellshock. And then there was Eve. Winters knew she was more than capable of leading another patrol tonight, would insist on it even, but looked so exhausted and frail that he wasn’t sure a strong wind wouldn’t knock her over. 

"Evening, gents," said Colonel Sink, somehow managing to sneak up on them all. 

Winters straightened as much as he could into attention for the Colonel, watching the man carefully. He sincerely hoped that Sink hadn't overheard his and Nixon’s prior conversation. Sink had proved his loyalty to the 506 over and over again, not just by turning down promotions, but by staying with the men every time they were on the front lines. Implying that he was glory-seeking on the men’s backs wouldn’t sit well with the man. 

"Stand easy," said Sink, sounding distracted as he made his way to the edge of the river, nearly close enough to touch the sandbags that defended their position from incoming shrapnel. 

Winters folded his arms again, fingertips seeking the warmth of his armpits. 

Sink turned to face the men, pride in his eyes. "Y'all did a damn fine job on a tough mission last night," he said. "I want to wish you good luck tonight, 'cause I'll be expecting more of the same."

Winters met Sink’s gaze head on, hiding his feelings. Much as he wished he could’ve gone with the men last night, not a one of them had been at risk. None of them deserved to receive Sink’s praise for watching from the sidelines as the men under them risked their lives. It was one of the more unsavory things about command. This speech should’ve been saved for the men on the ground, for the squad who’d run it and lost a man, not the people who’d planned it. 

"Have you briefed the men?" Sink probed.

"Uh," said Nixon, drawing Sink's attention off Winters and picking up the slack. "Just on our way, sir."

"All right," said Sink, patting Winters on the arm. "Make damn sure you remind them how proud I am of what they did, especially Sergeant Buchanan," he commented before walking back to his jeep.

"Yes, sir," responded Nixon for all of them, voice flat and staring at Dick.

Winters closed his eyes in pained resignation, and made a decision as Sink boarded his jeep and drove away. He shot Nixon a quick glance, already anticipating the worried look he found on his friend's face.

"So I'll brief them now, sir?" asked Speirs, missing the byplay completely.

Winters turned over his decision in his mind as several bombs struck off in the distance, the frantic, futile popping of an M-1 echoing behind.

"No," said Winters after too long a pause, still gnawing his way through the feasibility of what he'd decided to do. "No, I'll tell 'em."

He gave Speirs a glance, waiting until the man nodded, standing down, and set off for OP2, Speirs and Nixon at his heels. 

I hope this works. 

-

Eve left the patrol debriefing feeling stunned. 

She never would’ve anticipated Winters's making the decision to defy command and fake a report of a patrol that was never going to happen. 

Once again, Winters was going to bat for Easy Company.

She felt claustrophobic with the sudden cheer blossoming under the revelation that they were finally, finally, being pulled off the line. Eve wasn't stupid enough to hedge her bets on it; they'd been told they were getting pulled off the line after every small town they'd taken. Off the line was the carrot command kept dangling just beyond grasp, a distant reward for good service that she was beginning to doubt could ever be attained.

Not wanting to ruin the mood with her pessimism, she sought the cold solace of fresh air, leaving OP2 just behind the trio of captains. 

A distant, massive, explosion rocked the ground. Eve whirled to find the source.

The building they'd raided last night collapsed under the weight of Webster's explosives. 

Eve sighed in relief, feeling afresh the relief of not having to cross the river again. There would be no patrol tonight. Her guys were safe. 

If that explosion had been what she’d feared in that split second between hearing and knowing, the Krauts going on the offensive and pushing back across the river, there was no doubt them getting off the line would've been postponed.

Before the explosion had even settled, the captains got back to work.

"Buchanan, Lieutenant Jones, join us at the Company CP?" called Speirs, not even bothering to check that they were following.

They were. It was amusing he knew them so well already. 

Eve grinned and obeyed. 

-

They arrived at the CP and found First Sergeant Lipton up and about, obviously waiting for them. 

Eve had been too busy being ill herself to be properly worry about him. Pneumonia was dangerous, especially when living out of doors in the middle of winter. The illness didn’t seem to be keeping him down anymore, a huge improvement over a few days ago. It was a relief to see him feeling better. 

But the biggest surprise came in the form of Lieutenant Welsh, newly returned from the hospital.

"Well, look who it is!" cried the curly haired man as he spotted Eve, heading towards her immediately. She noticed that he was limping a bit, but he seemed in good spirits, beaming as he crossed the room. 

When he got close, Eve held out a hand to shake, but Welsh yanked her into a hug. She groaned, feeling like she was being crushed in his embrace and clapped him on the back. Eve’s chest felt tight and she fought back a cough. 

Luckily, Welsh let her go pretty quickly and the increased air capacity helped stave off the coughing fit. 

She didn't have a chance to reunite with him further, as Winters cleared his throat to gather their attention.

"First Sergeant Lipton," said Winters, pulling some papers from his jacket with a grin.

"Sir," said Lipton, eyes locked on the papers.

From between Lieutenant Welsh and Captain Speirs, Eve was unable to keep from grinning as the man’s whole countenance seemed to glow.

"Your honorable discharge as an enlisted man and your battlefield commission as a Second Lieutenant. Congratulations, Carwood," said Winters, shaking Lipton’s hand. 

"Lip, congratulations," said Nixon, taking his turn next to shake Lipton's hand. The intelligence officer’s grin was about to split his face it was so large.

"Thanks," said Lipton a huge grin on his face. Nixon laughed because Lipton's joy was so infectious.

Somber as always, Speirs didn't say anything or smile as he shook Lipton's hand.

"Congratulations, sir," said Eve quietly, but with a large smile for him too when it was her turn to give the man’s hand a firm shake.

Lipton then reached out to Welsh, and answered the lieutenant’s handshake with a "Thank you, sir. Welcome back."

"Ah, it's Harry to you," said the man smiling at first to Lipton and then turning to Eve. "And you, Ev, no more of this 'sir' bullshit from either of you. Congratulations, Lip," said Harry.

Lipton glanced at the papers in his hands like he still couldn’t believe it.

"Yeah, Harry, I-ah," said Nixon slyly slipping into the conversation. "I didn't expect to see you this soon, I figured you'd be nursing that scratch for another month or two."

Eve snorted. Apparently, he’d decided that he hadn't teased his friend enough since he'd returned

"Did you miss me, Lewis?" asked Harry, returning Nixon's fire. 

Nixon laughed, clapping the man on the back, delighted to have his friend back. 

"Sergeant Buchanan," said Speirs, completely ignoring what was happening between Nixon and Welsh with a practiced ease borne from putting up with them for so long. 

Or perhaps Speirs was just imperturbable.

After working with the man for several weeks, Eve could confidently confirm her early impressions of the man. He made good decisions in the field. He took care of her guys and didn’t look at them like expendable pawns in a much grander scheme. 

He was a solid commander whom she would be willing to follow into battle. 

That she liked him personally was just a bonus. 

He was staring at Eve, as serious and somber as Winters had been just moments ago.

She straightened in response, worried because Speirs's face was a study in composure – the way it usually was when he was about to deliver bad news. "Because of Lipton's commission to Lieutenant, the First Officer position is open; I'd like you to accept it."

Eve stared at the man, flabbergasted. 

"Sir?" she asked after a long moment. 

She honestly wasn’t sure whether or not she was hallucinating. She must be more seriously ill than she’d thought. Or perhaps he was playing a joke on her. 

Hallucinating seemed more likely. Maybe it’s an aftereffect of that God-awful potion?

Speirs didn’t leave her hanging. "You've proven that you are the right person for the job, despite your lack of seniority. I've spoken with both Sergeant Talbert and Sergeant Martin, and they both recommended you for the job. Congratulations, First Sergeant," said Speirs, his smile transforming his face completely.

It made him seem kind. 

"Thank you, sir," she said somehow, mind still stumbling to catch up. 

Speirs handed over her new First Sergeant patches. She took them from him, still trying to convince herself that this was happening.

Nixon laughed at her, clapping her on the shoulder now and almost sending her to her knees. 

"Congratulations, Ev," said Lipton with a pleased smile for her.

She couldn't stop staring at the patches in her hand. Surely, she was dreaming. She'd only been a Platoon Sergeant for a few weeks, barely a month after all. 

She didn't have the experience!

She could feel the panic swelling when Lipton squeezed her arm, grounding her. 

Lipton met her gaze and smiled. “You'll do fine, Ev.”

Eve took a deep breath, nodded, and shoved her nerves away, plastering on a smile that felt more real by the second.

Speirs pulled Lipton away, already starting to discuss the logistical snafus promised by their movement back to Mourmelon.

But Winters wasn't done with the promotions just yet.

"Lieutenant Jones," said Winters with another pleased grin.

Behind Winters, Eve caught Nixon giving Harry his flask. 

Harry took a swig and wandered away, blatantly ignoring Nixon's reprimand, "Don't go far with that!"

In defiance, Harry crossed the room to pester Eve again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. 

Nixon ignored this provocation and went back over to shadow Winters as the Captain delivered his news to Lieutenant Jones.

"Regiment has seen fit to promote you to a First Lieutenant," said Winters, pulling out another set of papers. "They want you on staff up there."

Jones smiled. 

Eve turned away, thinking poetically, Thus Second Platoon loses our fifteenth Lieutenant since D-Day.

"So, what's this I hear about you being sick, doll?" Harry said, distracting her. 

She shrugged off the arm he'd thrown across her shoulders and lied. "I’m fine. Lip here's the one who had pneumonia."

Unable to contain herself as the worried man turned his mollycoddling on the unsuspecting Lipton, Eve laughed, savoring the moment, somehow feeling at peace despite the war still going on around them. 

She didn’t even start coughing. Maybe it wasn’t a lie and I am getting better, she thought wistfully. 

She watched Harry release Lipton with a pat on the back and a wide, gap-toothed grin for her, happy to be alive in this moment, with these men.

There was a feeling she’d been to hesitant to name that was slowly starting to feel like a truth. 

We just might make it through this thing alive.

-

Eve left the CP, feeling light. 

She was ready to meet back up with Second and celebrate that they weren’t going on patrol again tonight. 

Plus, it seemed like they were really getting off the line now, after months and months of being on the front end of the Allied advance.

She made a break for OP2 – before Speirs or Winters got it into their heads that what she needed was another night in the CP – when she saw Lieutenant Jones, looking lost and lonely as he leaned up against a building. 

Something tugged at Eve; some instinct demanded that she go take the kid under her wing. He'd just gotten a promotion today. He shouldn't look like someone had kicked his dog.

"Lieutenant?" asked Eve as she approached him cautiously.

"Sergeant Buchanan," said Jones, straightening, trying to look attentive and not like she'd caught him sulking.

"Would you care to join me at OP2? The guys are probably still celebrating not having to go on patrol again tonight."

-

Jones felt out of place. A part of him desperately wanted to accept the woman’s invitation, but he didn’t know if it was necessarily wise. He was well aware that as an officer, it was generally frowned upon to associate with the men. Subordinates didn't obey officers they thought of as friends as well as those who had a bit of distance. 

In spite of this theory, Jones certainly hadn't got the impression that the officers in Easy Company were disrespected. 

"I don't –"

Sergeant Buchanan cut him off before he could refuse. "All due respect sir, you're heading out tomorrow anyway. Joining the men for an evening won't hurt their opinion of you."

Jones still wasn't sold. "I'm not sure they'd want me there.”

"Sir, you were on the patrol last night with us. You may be leaving tomorrow, but tonight you're still a part of Second Platoon," she said kindly. 

Jones was skeptical, but nodded.

She smiled at him, and Jones realized how pretty the new First Sergeant was when she did that. 

Jones somehow found himself following the assertive woman as she led him back to OP2.

"Did you know that Winters started out as Second Platoon's Lieutenant?" she asked when he fell into step with her.

Jones was surprised. "No. When I graduated from West Point, I asked for a posting on the front so I could see combat before the war was over. I got assigned to Easy Company randomly. How'd he get to be running the whole Battalion?"

Buchanan shrugged. "A lot of people died," she said blandly, a faraway look in her eyes. Jones would bet a month’s salary that she remembered every single one of them. "Our first combat CO, his name was Meehan. We're pretty sure his plane went down on D-Day. When he didn’t report in the next morning, Winters took over Easy Company. He got promoted up to Battalion sometime during Market Garden, and took it over while we were in Belgium."

Jones let loose a low whistle, impressed.

She nodded. "He was my first CO. You know, Winters was the first person in the Army who expected me to succeed. Even ate lunch with me one time in the main mess hall back in Basic to let me know he'd be on my side. After that, I'd have followed him anywhere."

"He takes care of his men," said Jones, finally understanding a little bit of what he'd been missing. He hadn't grasped the attachment – the love – Winters had for Easy Company. It was easy to see through Buchanan that it was returned. 

"And we love him for it," said Buchanan, confirming it. Jones was a little surprised that she’d come right out and say it like that. It was a stark reminder that Buchanan really was a girl under her dirty ODs that she could get away with saying flowery things like that. 

"Will you tell me more about him?" asked Jones.

Buchanan gave him another breathtaking smile. "What would you like to know?"

When they walked into OP2 just in time for dinner, Buchanan was in the midst of telling the story of how Winters had run full tilt across an open field, by himself, to attack an entire Battalion of SS.

The men were quiet for a while, listening to the story she was weaving. When she wrapped it up, she announced that Lieutenant Jones had just been promoted up to Regiment. 

She made no mention of her own promotion. 

"Another Lieutenant down," said the redhead – Babe, he thought the man’s name might be – with a sardonic smile. "Must be some kinda record."

"Hey, Jones, did you hear about the time Babe here got swindled by George Luz and Lieutenant Compton?" asked Buchanan with a wicked gleam in her eye as she launched into the story over Babe's protests.

She was eventually interrupted by Babe, who finally cut in with a cry of, "That's not how it happened!"

"Remember that time Luz impersonated Major Horton?" said Perconte, chiming in once that tale was finished.

Tales of various antics took off from there. Liebgott even teasingly embellished the time Malarkey had run out into the open field of battle for a Luger that turned out to be a blow horn of some kind.

"Then, I swear to God," cried Liebgott. "This kid up and runs back to the gun. Craziest running I've ever seen!" he mimed the diving Malarkey had done that day to avoid the enemy's machine gun fire. "The son of a bitch Kraut must've thought Malarkey was dancing or something, but somehow the lucky bastard didn't even get a scratch!"

Malarkey ducked his head. "Well what about the time you…"

-

Eve ate her soup with a no little satisfaction, feeling like she'd accomplished something amazing as she watched the members of Second Platoon remember the good old times with a smile instead of with longing or grief.

She saw an aching longing on Jones's face, and was reminded suddenly how lucky she was to be a member of Easy Company. And how short that privilege sometimes lasted for others.

"Remember that time Dike came by Lip's foxhole and told him he was going for help? With the radio less than three feet away?" added Grant with a chuckle.

"He was a fucking asshole, wasn't he?" said Eve, absently stirring her soup.

The table was silent for a pause before the men burst into uproarious laughter. During Dike's tenure, Eve had never criticized him in front of them. It was so out of character for her to not only badmouth him, but curse so vulgarly too, that there was no holding back the mens' delight.

"What about stories about Buchanan?" asked Jones.

No one jumped in with anything right away, the men collectively sitting back and thinking about which ones to share. Eve considered it too, but couldn't really think of anything she'd done in particular that was funny.

"This one time," said Perconte after a while. "Right before Foy? She took a cigarette off Speirs." Liebgott whistled. Babe looked impressed, and several other boys expressed their disbelief. "I seen it with my own eyes," insisted Perconte.

Eve took a bite of soup, pointedly refraining from commenting. She could feel the eyes boring into her and in a moment of weakness she looked up.

"Well?" asked Liebgott.

Eve shrugged. "He offered me a cigarette, I took it."

"Are you outta your mind?" asked Babe. "What about all those rumors?"

"What rumors?" asked Jones. The men exchanged glances wondering who would share now that Muck and Penkala weren't here to do it.

Clearing her throat, Eve explained the mythos around Captain Speirs. 

It was a good way to spend an evening, and far preferable to being on patrol.

-

Popeye and Shifty drew Eve into a conversation after a few of the men had drifted off to bed.

In low voices, the two Virginians highlighted what she'd missed of the patrol last night, Webster’s role in particular.

"I swear, Sarge, he let me go ahead of him and gave me covering fire. Didn't have to do it," insisted Popeye, "but he did."

Eve nodded. Webster, who had been one of the first to drift off to find a bed, still hadn't been completely let back into the fold. She'd tried tonight, to bring him into conversations, but Webster had been far more content to watch than participate.

It had caused him problems in the past – some of the men figured Webster wouldn’t associate with them because he thought himself better than they were. Personally, Eve thought that he was a bizarre breed of shy.

"He's a good man," said Shifty.

Eve nodded. "I know he is. I think the others know it too."

"That's good," said Popeye. "You might wanna head up to bed now, Ev," he teased, eyeing her. 

She swatted the man on the shoulder, but found herself stifling a yawn. I probably should look into finding a bed, she thought. Roe's potions had done wonders – absolutely amazing things, she’d barely felt her lingering illness all day – but she was still so tired her bones ached. Bed was definitely a good idea.

"There a spare bunk upstairs?" she asked.

"Jackson's," said Shifty.

Eve nodded. "He was above Babe's bunk, right?"

"Yeah," said Shift, suddenly quiet. "I heard a rumor you went to visit him?" the man asked. 

She nodded. It was no secret at all that Eve hated the aid-stations and hospitals.

"He's gonna be okay," she reassured them.

"That's good," said Popeye. "Won't be the same without that grump."

Eve snorted. "No, it won't." She stood with a stretch. "Good night, fellas," said Eve, addressing not just Shifty and Popeye, but the room at large. She got some mutters and distracted waves from the men still engrossed in their conversations, but couldn't be bothered to decipher any of it as she started thinking longingly of a mattress.

Before Eve made it out of the room, Jones stood and asked with a wave for a chat.

"I just wanted to say thanks," he said once they were in private, rushing to get the words out. "You really made me feel like one of the men tonight. I really appreciate it."

Eve smiled at him easily. "Sir, you pulled your weight and proved yourself in combat. You'll always be a part of Easy Company, even if you were only here for a day."

He beamed at her and let her wander off for bed.

-

The next morning, Eve woke up feeling like a weight she hadn't noticed had lifted from her. She'd spent the night on Jackson's empty bunk in OP2, surrounded by friends.

It was still a novel experience to wake up in a bed instead of a hole in the ground covered in snow. She rolled off the top bunk, disturbing Babe who'd sacked out under her. He glared at her, so she smiled at him until he buried his head pointedly back into his pillow.

She picked up her helmet and gun from where she'd hung them on the bedpost. She hadn't even bothered taking her boots off last night since she wasn't sleeping on nice sheets. Army blankets weren't worth the effort of pulling her boots on and off.

She packed her bag and piled it into the supply truck with everyone else's. She was about to wander off in search of her Platoon's truck, when she saw Captain Nixon toss something at Captain Winters.

Their voices carried on the wind, especially as she moved further away from the guys jostling to get their stuff into the truck.

Winters caught it, and opened the box, staring down at the contents. "Oak leaves," he said, dumbfounded.

"Congratulations, Major," said Nix, saluting. 

Eve beamed. It was about time Regiment got off its ass and promoted Winters. He'd been doing a Major's job for months now as the Commander of Second Battalion. It was a promotion well deserved and a long time in coming.

"Gentlemen, are we ready?" asked Speirs.

She heard Winters volunteer to drive, but got distracted by Cobb sitting in the back of the MP jeep. 

When did that happen? she thought, not recalling anything that would’ve called for the MPs as she made her way to where the trucks were idling. 

Lieutenant Jones was there already, saying goodbye to Malarkey and Martin.

"Good luck, Lieutenant," she said when it was her turn to say goodbye.

"You too, First Sergeant Buchanan," he said with a friendly smile. "It was an honor to meet you."

"Likewise, Lieutenant," she said. "I'm glad we had you along."

He gave her a smile, which she returned and looked over the men he'd fought with, seeing a myriad of smiles and nods of respect. With one last nod, he got into the jeep that would ferry him to Regiment.

“First Sergeant, huh?” said Martin. 

Eve shifted. Martin had a lot of seniority on her. “Do you mind?” she asked. She could still technically turn down the promotion. It would be easier than trying to do the job opposed by the other NCOs. 

He clapped her on the back. “Nah. You’ve earned it.” 

Eve blushed but couldn’t fight down her smile. She hopped into the truck with Martin's help, still grinning. She had a good feeling about today. The sun was even shining through the abysmal gray clouds.

"What are you smiling about?" asked Liebgott as she settled in across from him.

"Nothing," she said, but kept smiling. She closed her eyes to lean back against the rail, ready to get in a nap so she didn't have to be awake for all the bumps and jerks. With all the time she'd spent sleeping in trucks recently, she was almost used to being tossed about as they bounced down the road. 

Used to it, but she still didn't like it.

"So, what's up with Cobb?" she asked when she was settled.

"Eh," said Liebgott. "Apparently he mouthed off to Lieutenant Jones while drunk on duty yesterday."

Eve rolled her eyes. Sometimes Cobb just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

She caught the farewell nod exchanged between Lieutenant Jones and Webster as the Lieutenant's jeep moved out. Goodbye finished, Webster walked up to the truck holding Eve and most of Second in it and tossed in his bag as the truck rumbled to life. He was pulling himself up when Liebgott threw out a hand to help him.

Eve watched Webster stare at the appendage in disbelief for a moment, before smiling and grabbing hold. Liebgott even scooted over to let him sit.

Webster had more than earned his place in Second after the patrol the night before last. He'd thoroughly shattered the doubts she'd had about him. He was a hard worker, a team player, and levelheaded in a crisis. He was the best new addition to Second they'd had in a while.

She looked back at Haguenau as they rolled out of town. 

This made the fourth European country she'd seen in ruins. Somehow Easy Company had made their way from England to France, Holland, and Belgium. And Eve had managed to do it mostly unscathed. 

She'd never forget any of those countries, even if right now she never wanted to return.

Shaking her thoughts aside, Eve settled in for the ride. 

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I wanted to take a second to address my decision with Jackson. When I put Eve in the story, she needed to make an impact, not just outside of the show's parameters. In the large scale of the world, one man's life doesn't mean much, but to the men of Easy Company and Eugene Jackson's family, it would've meant the world.
> 
> There is no disrespect intended to Eugene Jackson or his family in this decision. His death was a tragedy in a war full of tragedies. He died a hero and should be remembered as one.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Updates are still scheduled for every Thursday. So much love for the people who took the time to review or added this story to their favorites or follows. Your continued support is unbelievable. Thank you all.


	47. Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve took on the job of First Sergeant as Easy Company left Haguenau. 
> 
> "I never did like the French, them and their goddamn Underground. When we jumped in Normandy, no Underground came out to help us, like in Holland. There was us and then there were the Krauts, and the Frogs only came out of their cellars to loot the Kraut supply rooms when it was all over. Hell, they were on the Krauts’ side in Normandy. Beat up a couple of guys who landed in St. Marie du Mont. A French broad killed over a dozen troopers in St. Come du Mont before the 1st Bat finally cornered her. She was a sniper, shacking up with the Krauts. You can have them goddamn Frogs." — Parachute Infantry, David K. Webster
> 
> Now: Easy Company finally get's pulled to the rear and ends up going on a bit of a field trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001, FandomlyCroft and Atman were instrumental in getting this chapter out to you guys. Any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Also, a special shout out to Helianza for tidying up my GoogleFrench once again.

-Chapter 47-

Easy Company learned that they were finally heading back to Mourmelon. It was the end of February now, and they’d been on the front lines since December. Everyone was ready for a break.

They traded out familiar trucks for train cars, monstrous relics from the last Great War capable of housing forty men in each. It was the Company’s first time traveling by train in Europe. Everyone agreed, it was a far better way to travel than bouncing their way back through half of Belgium in those trucks again, even if the large cars were crowded, open topped, and jolted oddly as they raced back to France.

Having the tops open actually proved to be rather nice. The weather had well and truly turned towards spring; the sun slipped through the sparse clouds with ease. Eve couldn’t stop smiling as she leaned on the warm, sharp smelling iron sides of the car, gazing up at the blue sky. The bottom of the cars was lined in sweet smelling straw that brought open fields and horseback riding to her mind. The men around her were talking and laughing, quietly enjoying the provisions they’d managed to scrounge together, a variety including everything from schnapps to baguettes, with plenty to go around.

It was nearly enough to lull her to sleep.

A persistent thought nagged her, keeping her awake so she could enjoy the atmosphere a while longer.

_We've survived the impossible._

-

Returning to Mourmelon was like being in a dream. Eve spent the first week terrified that she would wake up in a foxhole. And, if the lingering black circles under her friends' eyes were any indication, she wasn't alone. It took her days to stop pinching herself every hour just to make sure she was still awake, to make sure this was real and not another hallucination of peace.

The warming weather and the absence of fog gradually loosened the grip fear had around her heart. It hadn’t taken her nearly as long to appreciate the surplus of beds – actual beds, with clean sheets and real pillows – inside large green tents, twelve men to each, without any holes in the walls or canopy for the little lingering rain to leak on them.

The luxury of showers, although lukewarm at best, was one she abused heartily. The shower she’d had in Haguenau was a distant memory as she relished in the ability to take her time with ablutions for the first time in months, and even repeat them if she wished.

They got clean clothes and new Class A uniforms, all in proper sizes and with the proper insignias to sew on. Her sewing kit had vanished sometime in Belgium and without needle and thread available, Eve made sure to tuck her trinkets safely into the most secure pocket available, checking them often to insure their safety.

Gradually, she started feeling alive again – not like some wraith waiting for death to sweep her away – fear melting away as the blossoming early-springtime sun warmed her soul.

Eve avoided the abundant merrymaking the rest of Easy indulged in by sleeping for the majority of their first week off the line. It wasn’t all her doing. She’d been press-ganged into more than her share of sleeping by the terrifying alliance Roe had formed with Liebgott, Speirs, and Lipton. But even the few extra hours couldn’t make up for three months of sleep deprivation. Fortunately, everyone else was in the same boat; no one had managed to sleep much during what the press called “The Battle of the Bulge." She was not alone in spending the majority of her free time sleeping.

She attributed her all-encompassing exhaustion to the lingering vestiges of her illness and the start of her monthly cycle. She’d missed a few cycles, something she would’ve worried about if she hadn’t been so worried about dying first – and unless Immaculate Conception wasn’t reserved for the Mother of God, it was highly unlikely that Eve had somehow become pregnant. Still, that fear was assuaged when she’d woken one morning, certain that her period was going to start that day.

It had, and it was a doozy. Instead of resting, she got to get up several times a night to take care of it, cursing her body all the while. She was already so tired her bones ached.

Subsequently, she was in a poor mood all the next week.

When she wasn’t sleeping off the fog of exhaustion, Eve waged battle against the mountain of paperwork and the logistical nightmare of resupplying Easy Company. They needed everything and there were massive shortages; she had to fight for every scrap she managed to procure. It was necessary work, but incredibly tedious.

The hardest part of the whole thing was tracking down recalcitrant veterans and forcing them to be honest about what supplies they needed.

Irritatingly, most of Easy had adopted the annoying habit of pretending not to need the supplies she tried to give them in case someone else down the line needed it more - unless it was cigarettes; she was always swamped with requests for more smokes.

Eve even had to force Liebgott into new boots.

"Lieb," she pleaded, holding coveted size nines in her hand. "I swear, no one needs these more than you. Your feet are bleeding for Pete's sake!"

He grumbled. "So the soles are a bit thin, I've had worse."

"Thin? They're worn through and you know it! If you don't take these boots right now, Joe Liebgott, I'm gonna tell Roe that you're not taking care of your feet."

He glared at her, trying to see if she'd fold, but Eve held firm.

"Don't make me bother the Doc," she wheedled. Gene had been swamped with the influx of his own recalcitrant veterans, men who had exacerbated their injuries by avoiding treatment so long, likely not wanting to “waste” medical supplies when they’d been so low. Plus, Gene was just as exhausted as any of them, and twice as cross about “fool idiots” who’d made everything worse by waiting.

Liebgott stared at her for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and caved. "Fine."

She handed him the boots, glaring until he took them from her hands. "I _will_ know if you give them away," she said, her voice implying the threat. She was half tempted to demand the ones off his feet right now.

"You know, your accent really comes out when you're angry," he teased, starting to grin.

"You'd know," she said tartly, not bothering to deny it. She walked away before he could try to wheedle his way out of the boots again, grumbling to herself – “Men!” – as she sliced her way through the gathering crowd.

She shot Malarkey a peculiar look as he burst into laughter. Suspicious, she slowed, but he waved away her question with a flick of his hand, still grinning at her.

Eve shook her head and grinned back, glad enough he was smiling again to discard her confusion. She needed to track down Roe. He'd had a lot of practice getting the men to tell him what the others needed. With any luck, he already had a list of things that people desperately needed. And she could always get Roe to look sternly at them as a last resort.

While she wasn't exactly trying to avoid the paperwork waiting for her, it was nice to get away from it for a little while.

-

A couple days after they’d arrived in Mourmelon, the brass organized a division wide parade. Everyone put on their best dress greens and made sure everything gleamed and shined. The entire 101st was being awarded with a Presidential Distinguished Unit Citation for their defense of Bastogne, the first ever division to receive such an honor. It meant they’d be getting an oak cluster for the blue medals gleaming on their chests.

Now, Eve and the boys had been through enough parades to know that the whole business was usually a waste of time. Officers liked to put them on to hear themselves talk and stroke each other’s egos on the backs of the men’s accomplishments. It didn’t matter what kind of medal they were receiving, the whole tedious business of parading about wasn’t really worth the fuss, save for the fact that Dwight D. Eisenhower, Ike himself, was coming to give the award in person.

Everyone was excited to see the man in person.

He was a legend. He oversaw the whole war and from Eve’s point of view, he wasn’t doing too badly at it.

As First Sergeant, she got a front row seat to the speeches and spiels various Generals delivered. General Taylor even showed up.

The men were still quite sore that their General had been sitting pretty at home in Washington DC while they’d been freezing to death in Belgium, so no one paid too much attention to the man’s speech.

Eve’s attention was more firmly caught by the man standing just behind the General.

She had to look twice just to make sure. But there was no doubt that it was Norman Dike up there. Their useless commander was working for their useless General. It was a match made in heaven.

The highlight of the day was when Ike came down and shook a few of the men’s hands. Eve smiled as he quizzed Babe about his hometown.

No one was more stunned than she was when his next stop was to shake her own hand.

“Damn fine job, First Sergeant Buchanan,” he said, his grip firm and dry. “Your godfather sends his regards.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, feeling touched.

Without further ado, he continued onwards.

Liebgott, who’d somehow bullied his way to standing next to her, shot her a smirk.

She shook her head and tried to pay attention to the rest of the show.

-

Eve was settling into her promotion. Not much had changed from what she’d been doing in the Bois Jacques, but now it was on a much larger scale.

Her new job involved overseeing the Company’s needs. She ultimately acted as a liaison between the men and their sergeants, and the sergeants and the Brass. She also had a hand in assigning duties, jobs like Kitchen Patrol duty and cleaning the latrines. Eve did her utmost to be inscrutably fair as she did this, resisting the temptation to give her friends the easier jobs with relative ease. Everyone knew the score – if the chores rotated, no one felt as much resentment in doing them.

It was the one thing she didn't enjoy about her promotion – other than the colossal amount of paperwork, of course – this distance it put between her and the men.

Suddenly, she spent most of her day with Speirs and the lieutenants. Keeping such lofty company meant there was the new, marked distance between Eve and the other Sergeants – even between her and Malarkey – and a chasm between her and the enlisted men. As their advocator, she was separate from them in a way she never wanted. She wasn’t one of the guys anymore and it was a hard pill to swallow.

She found herself torn between the two spheres, part of both, but belonging to neither. Occasionally, she caught herself longing to be in a cursed foxhole, where she could shoot the shit without worrying about Army politics. There was no overcoming the difference in rank. The army had drilled into them all since they entered that the First Sergeant was as good as an Officer and should be treated as one.

But that didn't mean that the sudden isolation from most of her friends didn't hurt. She'd worked so hard to be accepted by them that being the outsider again was difficult. But, it was a feeling she was familiar with, and after talking to Lipton, decided to see her friends anyway, seemly of her rank or not.

Lieutenant Lipton described the job of First Sergeant as being ‘everything to everyone’. Eve had witnessed the man spread himself so thin trying to live up to that heavy burden in Bastogne. He helped her out a lot with the basics of the paperwork she needed to keep on top of, but left her to figure out the rest of the job on her own.

The first time she overheard Perconte call her "Mom," she went to find Lipton, feeling betrayed and angry.

He laughed at her misery. "Didn't you hear them calling me 'Mama Lip' in Bastogne?"

"No!" she denied, though she distinctly remembered such instances now.

He laughed, reading the fib on her face, but sobered as she just became more distressed. "Eve," he said, gently, "You already know how to do this job. You care about the men, keep doing that and you'll do fine."

"I don't want to let them down," she admitted softly.

He clapped her on the shoulder. "You won't. You'll do fine. You were picked for a reason."

She tried to believe him. "You didn't tell me that I'd be adopting a whole company of contrary children!" she grumbled, lightening the mood.

He laughed and dragged her to the mess hall.

-

Eve's relationship with Captain Speirs underwent the most radical change – particularly as he got more comfortable commanding a company not under constant siege – and she got more acquainted with his gallows humor. She was gratified to find that her intuitive liking for the Captain still held now that she was working under him.

Speirs wanted results, and he wanted them with very little fuss. He was a straightforward man and treated her like she was capable of doing her job. She went to great efforts to reinforce this opinion.

It took a while, but Eve soon fell into a rhythm. She enacted a system that allowed her to conquer the paperwork and keep on top of her other duties. She helped assign passes for leave and distributed the forms that the men needed to send home the luxury items they'd purchased in Paris. She made sure to keep in touch with the men and their morale now that they were prone to boredom. She enforced rules and made sure she had an open ear for anyone in need. This didn’t require her to do much more than she had been doing for a while, save that her voice held more weight now to actually get things done, even if that meant going around the ridiculous bureaucracy the Army was famous for.

The work was exhausting but incredibly satisfying. She finally felt like she was capable of tackling problems as they arose, and that gave her back the confidence she'd had while leading her squad.

And yet, despite all this, Eve was bored.

Sitting in the rear, with an endless pile of paperwork to tackle her only obstacle to overcome, was stifling and was nearly enough to make her long for the frontlines once more and the action it provided. These bouts of insanity were short lived, but no less potent because of it.

She wasn't the only one itching to do something. Keeping so many soldiers entertained was a challenge all on its own. Eve was at odds keeping bored guys out of trouble.

Fortunately, the temporary idleness didn't stick. Easy Company got new replacements to bolster their dwindling ranks soon enough, and with them came new stacks of paperwork pertaining to their training and every other mundane thing that the Army liked to keep track of.

Then there was the training itself. The incoming soldiers' standard of fitness was abysmal. Even exhausted and half-starved, the veterans ran circles around the new boys. Eve and the other NCOs had a lot of work to do before the new replacements were up to Easy Company standard. Speirs was just as fierce a taskmaster as Sobel, but only half as vindictive. Speirs’s gruff came from actually giving a damn about the people under him.

Still, Winters wasn’t leaving anything to chance. The Battalion CO instituted a vigorous training program to get the new boys into shape and help integrate them into the company. He took the extra step of actually joining Easy Company, even on night marches when the rest of his staff was off cavorting in Paris.

The veterans weren’t happy with returning to rigors of basic training after the relative freedom of combat. Eve did her part assisting Speirs in leading training exercises and helping the NCOs whip the new paratroopers into shape, coaching the Toccoa veterans to help out the more desperate cases.

"Shifty, could you help Private Johnson with his shooting? He couldn't hit the broadside of a barn if the barrel of his M1 was kissing it."

Shifty laughed and ambled off to give the replacement a few gentle pointers.

"Perco, could you run through a few drills with the new radio tech, O'Connell? Maybe you and Luz could go over the signal words again?"

"Again, Sarge? I just told him what they were ten minutes ago!" cried Perconte before smacking Luz across the chest and dragging him off to scold the hapless tech.

"How's our new medic coming, Gene?"

Roe looked a little desperate. "He's gonna get plenty of practice healin' his own self if he keeps up the way he is. I've never seen a man so terrified of a needle. How's he gonna learn to put it in somebody if he won't even touch it?"

"I'm sure he'll get it, Gene. If anyone can put him to rights, it's you."

Eve was pleasantly surprised to find that she had far less trouble with the replacements than she'd anticipated. The replacements heard her name and fell into line with a quiet awe that unnerved her for days. It was almost unnatural considering all of the problems she'd had with replacements in the past. Surely First Sergeant Stripes hadn’t made such a big difference? If anything, she’d been anticipating more push back from boys unused to having a woman in charge of them.

However, some things were familiar from the last batch of replacements. Eve couldn't walk by a patch of new recruits without whispers following her. She hadn’t heard any insults yet, casually dropped at a volume easily discernible from where she’d passed and yet still plausibly whispered among friends. It felt like she was a tiger at the zoo, something to be gawked at.

The novelty of it wore out within an hour of her noticing it. Liebgott and Babe thought it was hilarious and teased her about it endlessly, especially once Eve realized that the insults seemed to have been replaced with admiring stares more appropriate for the likes of Winters, or Speirs, or even Guarnere – who despite being shipped home months ago was still well remembered and well revered for his combat prowess.

She didn't figure out what was going on until one of the replacements approached her as she was heading for the mess after afternoon drills.

"First Sergeant Buchanan!"

Eve turned towards the young man trying to catch up to her. He looked exhausted, cheeks flushed with a splotchy ruby as he alternated between jogging and walking, probably too tired to run anymore. She wondered idly as she stopped and waited for him to catch up if she’d ever had such trouble at drill. She barely felt winded at all.

"What can I do for you, Private Green?" asked Eve when the man reached her.

He saluted, still panting for breath. "I was – wondering – ma'am, if you'd -"

Eve interrupted him, certain they'd be here forever if he continued on like this. "Catch your breath, kid," she told him, not unkindly.

He did and seemed to remember that he had a full canteen on his hip and quickly took a few swigs. When he was done, he straightened to stand at attention, conscious that she was looking him over and judging his merit. "I was wondering, ma'am, if it's not too much trouble, could I get your autograph?"

Eve blinked, sure her face showed how flabbergasted she felt. "Um..."

"It's just that, my mom and my sister are huge fans," persisted Green, scared she'd refuse.

"Sure, Private," said Eve, gathering herself in the face of his obvious discomfort. She gave him a small smile and took the notebook he handed her, pulling free her own pen – ever handy for errant paperwork that seemed to crop up every time she turned around – to sign it. "Just a signature?" she checked.

"Yes, ma'am," said Green, watching her eagerly. "I wanted to ask you for it before, but I got nervous and there never seemed to be enough time. I couldn't believe it when they told me I was joining the 506, much less Easy Company!"

Eve didn't know what to say, much less what he was talking about, and gave Green an uneasy smile.

She handed him back the paper with her signature. He gleefully tucked it back into his pocket and snapped a sharp salute, beaming.

She responded, bemused herself, and said, "You'd better hit the showers, Private. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

"Yes, First Sergeant!" he said and scampered back to join the buddy who'd waited for him before the two of them hustled into the mess hall as though the chow was going somewhere.

Still not having the foggiest idea what all that was about, Eve shrugged it off and continued on into the mess herself.

She located her friends at a glance.

To the discerning eye, there were very distinct lines segregating the mess hall. Everyone in the Battalion ate together of course – apart from the officers – with each company having its own preferred area from which they didn’t often stray. But to those in the know, it was obvious that the men were more divided still.

The Bastogne survivors all sat together with a subset of the surviving Toccoa members further separating themselves out from the boys who'd joined later. To Eve’s knowledge, it had always been that way. She couldn’t remember when the Toccoa mens' bond had not been strong.

That was just the way it was.

It was a lesson she had learned early: being a part of Easy was something you had to earn. Until you earned it, you had to make do sitting on the outskirts.

Personally, Eve still marveled that she was in the inner circle – one of the Toccoa members – and not still being ostracized for being a girl. She was still bewildered that so much had changed. She half expected the men to close ranks again, leaving her abandoned and on her own, an island of one amongst a sea of many because she was not one of them.

It was ridiculous, especially after spending nearly a year in combat with these men, but the irrational fear still snuck up on her every time she walked into the mess hall, long engrained after almost a year of isolation that she’d have nowhere to sit but by herself once more. She didn’t even realize that she was still worried about it until she walked into the mess hall.

She took a deep breath and scanned the crowd for a friendly face.

Liebgott waved her over, and she almost sagged in relief. She waved back and made her way to get some food. No one splashed food on her ODs, thank God, and no one sneered at her or tried to trip her or push her. Instead, the men she encountered in the middle of the aisles moved meekly out of her way.

Eve slid into the seat between Liebgott and Malarkey with an easy grin as the boys shoved over and made room for her at the very heart of the table.

It was good to know that her promotion hadn’t changed everything.

"Hey, First Sergeant Buchanan," Alley greeted her as Eve bit into her meal, timing it so she'd have to talk around the food in her mouth to answer. "What's this I hear about a fieldtrip?"

Eve glared at him and his smug grin, but nodded, refusing to answer verbally while she had food in her mouth. She'd – rather impolitely – already started wolfing down her bean chili, as Alley well knew. He was just gonna have to wait a minute for swallow so she could answer properly. She hadn't forgotten all of her manners, unlike _some_ people.

"Field trip?" demanded Liebgott, not bothering to swallow his own mouthful. The man was eating his Wonder-Bread like someone was going to steal it out of his hand, and talking around the smashed bread lining his teeth without an ounce of shame. "Where we goin'?"

She grimaced, but knew commenting on the sheer lack of table manners was a futile endeavor. "Nowhere, if we can't get these replacements up to scratch," she said as she loaded up another spoon full of chow. The food was bland and tasteless but warm, filling, and there was a lot of it to go around - which put it head and shoulders above anything she'd eaten in the past three months.

"Does that mean we're jumpin' into Berlin?" asked Babe.

Eve hadn't even noticed him sitting there. She chewed quickly and shook her head. "No. Or, well, not yet at least," she said. "Lieutenant Nixon is jumping with the 17th, though where exactly is still classified, but it’s definitely over German soil."

There was a collective groan at the news.

"The 17th? Those boys are all still wet behind the ears!" protested Babe.

"They were with us in the Ardennes," Malarkey pointed out.

And then the redheads were off, fiercely debating the inadequacies of the other Airborne divisions, with frequent and fervent input from the other veterans. Most were upset about being passed up for the opportunity to drop into Germany.

Eve took another bite of chili to conceal her grin. It was always fun to hear the boys bicker like old biddies.

It didn’t take long before Speirs gave in and arranged a “field trip” to Paris, despite the newest recruits still lagging behind.

“It’s not mandatory: Everyone choosing to stay behind will have the day off from drill,” announced Speirs at dinner one night. “The train we’re taking will leave at 0800 tomorrow morning. Spending cash is on you boys, so make sure you take enough for meals and whatever. Grade A uniforms are mandatory, so look sharp.”

Eve was eager to return to the city, idly caressing the Joan of Arc pin that she still wore hidden over her heart.

“Great,” whispered Liebgott with a sneer on his face.

Eve looked at him, confused. “You don’t want to see Paris?”

“Paris, sure, but I’m so sick of dealing with French people,” Liebgott grumbled as though it explained his perplexing statement.

She was even more surprised when several of their companions nodded along.

Eve could feel her forehead furrow. “Why?”

“Come on, Ev, you were there on D-Day,” argued Liebgott. “Not one Frog came out to help us roll up the Germans, not one. If you ask me, they got a little too close with the Nazis. Not like the Dutch, you remember? Came right out and helped us, even when they got bombed to hell by the Luftwaffe.”

“Are we talking about the same Dutch people who beat their women in the streets?” she asked, appalled.

Liebgott rolled his eyes. “They were sympathizers, Ev, they got what was coming to them.”

“How the hell do you know?” protested Eve, despite knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument.

Liebgott must’ve seen something on her face because he changed tactics. “They hate us, too, Ev. They’re ungrateful, lazy, sullen, and dirty. Got a little too close with the Nazis, if you know what I mean.”

This opinion shocked her to silence as he went on to extol the virtues of the Dutch and their well organized resistance when compared to the absentee French one.

Eve sighed. “Just because you didn’t see them on D-Day doesn’t mean they weren’t out there. Hell, I didn’t see you that night either, but I know you were out there, fighting same as me. They’ve been occupied for years, Liebgott.”

He shook his head and walked away from her.

Eve bit her lip to keep from screaming and let him go.

She took a deep breath, and then a second and third when it didn’t particularly help her calm down.

She knew nothing she said would convince the man that he was unequivocally wrong. There was nothing sullen about Pierre or Louis, nothing dirty about Madeleine or Bridgette, nothing lazy about Madame Bissette or Chef Richard, and no one who wanted freedom from the Nazis so much as Ange had. Sure, the city itself might’ve felt dirty at times, but no more than New York had. It was not an adjective she’d use to describe any of the people she’d met, all of whom shined so brightly with the joy of life and freedom that had sparked untold generosity towards her.

She didn’t like fighting with Liebgott, felt sick about it even. It hadn’t happened in all the time they’d been friends. It didn’t help that she knew he wasn’t alone in his opinions. Many of the D-Day veterans likely felt the same way. It was a sobering, depressing thought.

Shaking her own head with a heavy sigh, she headed the other way. She hoped Liebgott decided to go, despite his deplorable opinion of the French.

If only so she could prove him wrong.

Eve found herself at the aid station, unsurprised that her feet had taken her there. She wrinkled her nose at the still permeating stench of wounds barely healed and that sickly-sweet, cloying stench that lingered around the dead and the dying.

Some of the veterans had taken to claiming some small illness in order to avoid the tedium of field exercises and spend the day reading magazines and flirting with nurses. Speirs was fairly lenient about it, especially since none of the guys had ever done it more than twice. Eve had never done it herself. She was too worried about taking up a bed someone else might need for a legitimate reason to justify it. Drilling was tedious, sure, but it wasn’t that bad. Nothing like her probation under Sobel.

It took very little time for her to find familiar dark hair in the crowd and get his attention.

Gene took one look at her and excused himself from the conversation he was having with a man in a surgeon’s coat.

“What is it, _chérie_?” he asked, guiding her out of the aid station easily. Eve followed willingly, happy to be back outside in the early spring air.

She sighed. Of course Gene could tell that something was bothering her. It was probably all over her face. “I was talking to Liebgott. He said some things.”

Gene’s face was concerned. “What kind of things?”

Eve organized her thoughts quickly, knowing the longer she spent trying to find the right way to say this, the worse Gene would think it was. Finally she settled on spitting it out. “What do you think of the French, Gene?”

Gene scanned her face. “Is this about the trip to Paris?”

Eve ran a hand through her hair and nodded. “Liebgott said he doesn’t like French people,” she said, omitting the things he had actually said, feeling like voicing them would give them credence they certainly didn’t deserve.

“Not many of the boys do, Ev,” said Gene, gently.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s probably different for everyone.”

“They’re wrong,” she said, scanning Gene’s face for understanding. “Gene, when I went to Paris before the Ardennes… Where did you think all those presents came from?” She’d had enough to give something to all of the Toccoa men, something she definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford on her own.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t realize the extent the Parisians she’d run into had taken her under their collective wings, embracing her utterly and being obscenely generous. Eve was certain that Pierre and Madame Bissette had saved her life with those alterations to her ODs, one of a thousand kindnesses that had been lavished upon her when she’d visited the city.

She couldn’t explain it properly if she tried. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen how little those people had, let alone how freely they’d offered it.

Looking at his face, she sighed and let it go. He didn’t need convincing. She remembered that pretty French nurse from Bastogne, the one who’d given him chocolate that horrible day so long ago.

Eve wondered what had happened to her, but Gene’s face didn’t invite her to ask.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Are you going tomorrow?”

It wasn’t a mandatory excursion after all and many veterans and replacements alike were planning to stay behind to take advantage of the day off their rigorous training regime. She wanted Gene to come, so she could share the Paris she’d experienced with him.

“No,” said Gene to her disappointment.

She understood his decision. The Ardennes had taken a lot out of her friend and Eve didn’t begrudge him a little time alone.

She nodded. “Maybe next time, then?” she offered. “Maybe just you and me when this is all over?”

He grinned, the small gesture incredibly precious to Eve. It had been a long time since she’d seen her friend smile.

“Sure,” he said before dropping the subject, turning sharp blue eyes on her critically. “You’re looking more like your old self,” he said, reaching for her forehead to check her temperature with the back of his hand. “You still feeling better?”

She rolled her eyes with a small grin of her own at his mother-henning. “I feel fine. I haven’t had so much as a sniffle in days.”

“You tell me if that changes,” he ordered. “Can’t have our First Sergeant under the weather.”

Eve let Doc Roe mollycoddle her for a few minutes longer before she left him, inexplicably feeling better for having talked to him.

She made rounds to all of her friends, taking a tally of who was planning to go and who was planning to stay behind.

Malarkey was quite eager to go. He still had a lot of money from his craps winnings left over. The Irish man had no idea what he wanted to spend it all on, but it was apparently burning a hole in his pocket.

“Why not send it home?” she asked him once.

“I thought about it,” he admitted. “But my ma would skin me for gambling and she wouldn’t believe me if I told her I got it anyway else.”

Eve shook her head and let it go, too glad he was going with them to be properly exasperated.

It was a feeling that lingered with her for the rest of the day, especially when it became obvious that Easy Company’s opinion of the French ran more towards Liebgott’s thinking than hers, much to her despair.

Liebgott was avoiding to her. He even went so far as to sit at a different table from her for the first time since Toccoa.

It was like a shard of glass stuck in her heart, being pushed deeper every time she turned to say something to him and found him absent.

Refusing to show how much it was affecting her, she applied herself to her meal as though she thought of nothing else, engaging with the others at her table only when spoken to.

She fell asleep that night, feeling for the first time in a long time like an outsider. Liebgott hadn’t spoken to her at all for the rest of the day. She didn’t even know if he was going in the morning.

-

Roughly half of Easy Company was on the eight o’clock train to Paris the next morning, Liebgott included.

Speirs had collaborated with Winters, Welsh, and Nixon – the trio never far from Easy Company if they could help it – to create an itinerary that was mostly comprised of walking around the city and its famous gardens and the major landmarks of Paris.

She anticipated very few problems with discipline with so many officers coming along and was eager to share what she remembered of the beautiful city with her friends.

It was odd. While she’d been in Paris, she’d felt particularly apathetic to its charms, letting Pierre guide her aimlessly along. To be honest, she remembered the city far more fondly than she’d felt while she was in its grasp. Pierre’s commentary on everything from the people to the architecture had inspired her imagination, but most of it could be attributed to the beauty of the city itself. She remembered the general atmosphere and the incredible people with far more clarity than any of the sites she’d seen.

With their stalwart officers at the helm, Eve was seeing a much more regimented view of Paris as they moved from landmark to landmark with efficiency inspired from rigorous military planning – not that Eve had expected anything less.

For a city that had been occupied by the Nazis since 1940, Paris was pristine. The invasion of France had been so swift that the government had fallen without a single bomb being dropped on the beautiful capital city. Everything iconic about the city was still intact and whole. It was odd walking through a European city that still had major landmarks that she recognized.

They meandered through the streets, seeing everything from the Arc de Triomphe, to the Eiffel Tower before following the banks of the Seine towards the Jardin des Tuileries. If what she overheard from the trio up front was correct, next they were heading off to see Notre Dame before veering off to see the Jardin du Luxembourg.

The city sprawled out before them, unhurried and elegant as they tromped through the winding streets, vibrant in their diversity and austere in their grandeur.

Eve found herself watching the other pedestrians, noting the skirting manner of the civilians as they dodged the abundance of dark green uniforms prowling like packs of wolves, clogging up the cafés and sidewalks as the off duty soldiers leered and jeered at anything in a skirt that passed them by, even among Eve’s group, though it was mostly the replacements. She took heart that her friends had once more formed a protective barrier around her, glaring at any interlopers foolish enough to make a crack at the Eagle patches on their shoulders.

The last time she’d been in Paris, Eve had disguised herself as one of those civilians, relatively safe with Pierre, inadvertently giving observers the impression of being a couple. With Easy Company around her, she was safe amongst her friends.

And yet, she found that she missed Pierre’s colorful commentary as they paraded past historical site after historic site, each beautiful and impressive in its own way. She missed being able to wander wherever whimsy led her.

She endured, focusing on keeping her increasingly rowdy friends out of fights and trouble, something relatively easy with Winters and the other much respected officers present.

Eve even found herself looking forward to seeing some of the landscapes she’d only heard about in history books.

Then, the streets started looking vaguely familiar. Blue topped stone buildings huddled together in long strips before the street opened up, parting as Easy Company crossed the Seine for the little island Eve knew held one of Paris’s finest jewels.

Between one breath and the next Notre Dame appeared before them, as grandiose as ever. Eve’s heart felt lighter as she looked upon the twin bell towers over the iconic circular stained glass window. The square before the cathedral was crowded, everyone bending back to take in the intricate scene above the doors, the line of crowned saints, each individual figures staring down at the assembled crowd and even squinting to make out the small faces of the gargoyles lining every peak and corner, Eve just as eager among them as she tried to cement the beautiful details into her mind.

There was a hold up. No one was going in.

Eve moved closer to see what the problem was.

“What do you mean, it’s closed?” demanded Speirs, glaring at a little man, a door guard of some kind.

“Closed,” said the man clearly with a thick accent, making the word sound more like “clo” as he repeated himself.

Another door guard came over to help, babbling French at Speirs in an attempt to sooth the man’s clearly ruffled feathers. “ _Je suis désolé monsieur, mais Notre-Dame est fermée à cause d'un événement privé._ ”

Eve had no idea what the man had said, and from the irritated look on his face, neither had Speirs, but the two men were unmoving in the face of her Captain’s ire, which was no small feat. She did not envy the men in the slightest. Speirs did not like it when things didn’t go to plan.

She shook her head and went to spread the news. It just figured the church was closed. It was the only thing she’d been really looking forward to. It was the only site she really felt like she’d missed on her last trip.

The boys grumbled when she passed the news, but didn’t seem to care much either way.

They were bored, clumping together in conspiring circles, eyeing the commanders in an attempt to gauge how severe the punishment would be for wandering off. Eve couldn’t say she blamed them. She was rather bored of the regimented sightseeing as well. She wanted to linger where others wanted to rush, and rush along when others wanted to linger.

She’d much rather spend the day wandering on her own. With a sigh, she made her way back to the increasingly irate looking officers, still trying to talk their way into the church.

Eve saw Speirs draw a breath to argue, and nudged him gently with her elbow.

He glanced at her sharply, “What?”

She was smothering a grin as she shook her head. She knew from his face that he could read her expression. There was no use getting mad in situations like these.

Speirs sighed and met Winters’ equally bemused look, both men having left the negotiating to Nixon, the only one amongst them with a passable grasp of French, as Welsh had wandered off to gossip with the men, before coming to a decision.

“It’s all right, Nix,” said Winters. “Just leave it.”

Nixon turned, drew a breath to argue, and then read something in Winters’ face as he looked back over the men.

The boys were slowly testing the boundaries, drifting further and further away from the officers in a bid for freedom.

Nixon rolled his eyes but let the matter drop.

“What do you think, Buchanan?” Winters asked the question they were all thinking.

Eve shrugged. “I don’t think there’s any harm in letting them wander on their own for a bit.”

Nixon shrugged his assent, which was enough for Speirs. “Easy Company!” Speirs called, waiting for the men to cluster around him before issuing the following orders. “Bus leaves at 1800. Every last one of you will be on that bus or I’ll come fetch you myself.” He gave the now eager looking boys his most threatening smile and barked, “Dismissed.”

Eve hid a laugh under a cough as the men scattered almost immediately.

Speirs turned on her with thinly veiled concern. “You all right, First Sergeant?”

She smiled softly, touched. “Just fine, sir.”

He didn’t look like he believed her, looking her over with a critical gaze that reminded her of Gene, but he didn’t push. “All right. We’re going to go explore a bit. Maybe find somewhere for a drink. You’re welcome to come along, Buchanan.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” said Eve, as Malarkey called her name from the other side of the square. She turned to see the redhead waving frantically at her to join his group. “I think I should probably stick with them for a while, keep the boys out of trouble. If you’re looking for a drink, there’s a pub just across the river a ways that way,” she gestured at the bank on the right side as she faced the cathedral. “It’s called the _L'épine de La Rose_. ‘Rose and Thorn’ in English, I think. It’s got a cross of Lorraine in the window.”

“A what?” asked Welsh, listening in.

“It’s like a crucifix,” explained Nixon. “But with a second, shorter bar right above the apex of the cross.”

Welsh made a face like Nixon was speaking Greek.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” assured Eve.

“Hey, Ev! You commin’?” Malarkey hollered.

“Better go, Ev,” said Winters with a smile. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

Eve nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

She jogged over to the group of boys still waiting for her.

Malarkey threw an arm around her shoulders and dragged her off, nearly making her topple over with a laugh as she righted herself and let herself be tugged along.

The group, consisting surprisingly of Liebgott, who still wasn’t really looking at her, Alley, who was still one of Leibgott’s best friends, Christenson, whom she’d gotten to know a little better since Bastogne, Talbert, whom she had seen very little of in Bastogne, but was eager to reconnect with, Babe, who was still very much a part of their group for having lost Bill and Toye, and of course herself and Malarkey, crossed the river immediately with very little prompting from Eve as she steered her group towards the more familiar streets around Sainte Michele.

The boys were a rowdy bunch, high on life and obviously planning to live it to the fullest. Everyone was looking for something. Christenson, an artist himself, lingered over the street painters’ works, darting into art supplies stores and shaking his head at exorbitant prices. Talbert and Babe’s appreciative eyes wandered over most of the lone females they passed. Malarkey picked up and discarded trinkets as they caught his fancy, letting himself be talked into or out of the pieces as he tried to justify spending his winnings on himself or his family back home accordingly. Liebgott and Alley were causing mischief, insulting the other service men they wandered by just loud enough for the men to take offense.

Eve let herself be swept along in the merry gathering. They weren’t really trying to cause trouble, they were just having fun, and she couldn’t begrudge them it after months on the front.

They picked up little odds and ends that caught their eye. Eve grabbed a card deck. Her last one had been abandoned in the scramble out of Mourmelon for the Ardennes.

As they got deeper into the district, the winding streets took on more familiar shapes to Eve’s eye.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?” Liebgott asked, scanning a posted menu for something alcoholic, muttering darkly about the indecipherable French.

“I know a pub nearby,” offered Eve.

The boys all froze.

“Never mind,” said Eve, trying to back track, knowing she was about to be teased. Besides, alcohol didn’t really seem like such a good idea. It was a bit past noon, but that was still pretty early to start drinking by most standards. Well, not by army standards, but most others.

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day,” marveled Christenson. “Evelyn Buchanan actually suggesting we go to a pub.”

“We don’t have to,” said Eve. “It was just a stray thought, really. Why not get lunch somewhere?”

“No,” said Liebgott, looking directly at her for the first time all morning. “This I gotta see.”

“You’re in it now, Ev,” agreed Malarkey with glee. “Lead on!”

Eve groaned, but led them along, picking her way through the streets until she finally stumbled upon the small swinging sign with the faded rose she remembered so well, a French flag with the red double cross she’d described to the officers hanging proudly in a dusty window. She’d found it once more, _L'épine de La Rose_.

“Here it is,” she said.

“Doesn’t look like much,” said Liebgott, once more not actually looking at her as he eyed the dingy looking pub with disdain.

“It’s like you don’t trust me,” she said softly, trying to hide her real hurt. By the sharp look she received from Malarkey, she’d missed the mark. She plowed on. “It’s better inside.”

Christenson needed no further prompting. He opened the door, and held it as he gestured for Eve to go in first.

She did, walking into the darkly lit pub from the bright noon sun, pausing just inside to let her eyes adjust to the familiar, comforting sight of dark wood panels and assorted tables and chairs. It was significantly less crowded than the last time she’d been here, but she could allow that due to the hour of the day.

“ _Je n’en crois pas mes yeux_!” cried the woman behind the bar, dragging Eve’s attention to her instantly. She recognized the beaming face under untamable hair. It was Camille, the same bartender from the night Pierre had brought her here. “ _Jeanne d’Arc! Vous êtes revenue_!”

Eve had no idea what the woman had said exactly, but her whole demeanor was welcoming as she swept out from behind the bar, her bright grin still illuminating her face as she headed up a staircase that had utterly escaped Eve’s notice the first time she’d been in the pub, calling up the stairs. “ _Julian! Sors du lit. Il y a une invitée pour toi_!”

There was a thud from overhead and Eve winced in sympathy as Camille wandered back to the bar, looking smug. “ _Que puis-je faire pour vous_?”

From the look on her face, expectant as she watched Eve’s group of friends, she made a guess. “Tell the nice lady what you’re having, boys,” she said, prompting her friends into motion.

Eve didn’t join her friend clamoring at the bar, her attention captured instead by the disheveled man descending the stairs.

Julian Ange’s blond hair was in tousled from where he’d obviously been abed, but he was no less striking than she remembered, with an unfairly attractive bright grin splitting his face as he made his way towards her.

“I did not think I would be seeing you again, _Jeanne d’Arc_!” Eve grunted as Julian pulled her into an embrace, giving her cheeks a smacking kiss each. “What brings you back to Paris?”

Eve beamed. It was good to see him again. “We just got back from the front. Our Captain decided we needed a little break from training.”

“He is a wise man,” said Julian. “I see you’ve brought some friends.”

“Yes,” said Eve, gestured at her friends, who had paused in their quest for alcohol to watch the exchange, nodding as she introduced them. “They’re some of the bravest soldiers I’ve ever met.”

“Your round is on me,” said Julian, nodding at Camille.

Camille nodded and then said something to Julian that Eve couldn’t comprehend at all. Julian replied and then walked to the door, propping it open as he whistled sharply. Less than a minute later, a little boy appeared, probably around eight or so. Julian gave the kid instructions, and some form of payment before the kid scurried away.

Julian caught her questioning look and explained. “That’s René. He used to run messages for me. No one suspects a little boy.”

“So where did you send him?”

Julian smiled, and was rescued as Talbert asked him, “So, Julian, what did you do during the war?”

“This and that,” said Julian.

“Who the hell is he, Ev?” Liebgott hissed into her ear, pulling her attention from Julian’s answer.

“I don’t know exactly,” she said. “I know he was a part of the French Resistance.”

Liebgott scoffed, and Eve had never wanted to hit him more.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Liebgott sneered, but tuned back into the conversation as Julian tried to explain the utter secrecy necessary for the resistance to operate, how their original leaders had been wiped out. Each member had only the name of one member above them, and two below them. Every part of a plan had multiple teams precisely coordinated in order to carry off assassinations in broad daylight.

Eve didn’t figure out René’s mission until the door banged open once more to reveal a man half hidden behind a basket piled high with assorted bits and bobs that Eve couldn’t even begin to name.

The man quickly abandoned the basket, not caring when some of the more precarious items toppled to the tabletop he’d set it on. With two leaping steps, he’d crossed the room and swept Eve into a fierce hug, nearly lifting her off the ground.

She gave a shout, barely recognizing the man before she was hugging him back, laughing at his obvious enthusiasm.

“Pierre!” she said, laughing into the man’s shoulder.

He put her down, landing a smacking kiss to each of her cheeks before pulling back, hands still clasping her shoulders as he looked her over. “It is so good to see you! You have lost weight, my friend. But you have survived the cold. Madeleine and I worried. It was the coldest winter we’ve seen in forty years!”

“It’s good to see you too, Pierre,” agreed Eve. A pointed cough behind her reminded her of the audience she’d brought along. “Forgive my manners, Pierre. These are some of my friends.” She introduced everyone, thankful that Pierre did not rise to the bait of the overly firm handshakes her friends gave him.

“Any friends of _Jeanne’s_ are friends of mine!” declared Pierre, offering each man a friendly smile. “Come, come, let’s get you soldiers another drink, on me!”

Just like that, Pierre made friends with the small band of Easy Company who eagerly followed him to the bar.

“Ange!” called Pierre, spotting his friend. Eve thought he looked bemused. “Look who is here!”

“I see her, Pierre,” said Julian.

Talbert pulled her aside. “Who are these people, Ev?”

“I stayed with Pierre and his family when came to Paris last time. They took me into their home for my entire stay and brought me here to meet Julian. From what I can tell, this was a headquarters for the French Resistance.”

“French Resistance?” said Talbert, sounding puzzled.

“ _Jeanne_!” cried Pierre, drawing her attention once more. “I almost forgot!” He herded her back over to the abandoned basket with an arm around her shoulders. “When my neighbors heard that I had met the lady soldier herself, they gave me these things to pass on to you should I see you again. I am very glad you have come back.”

“All this?” said Eve, looking through the basket. It was full with everything from dried sausages to bottles of alcohol to handkerchiefs to trinkets, and many, many pendants depicting Joan of Arc. It was too much and she said so.

“It is for you,” Pierre insisted.

His posture told her that it would be inexplicably rude to try and decline further. “Please express my gratitude properly, Pierre,” she said, trying to think of what she was going to do with all of this stuff.

He smiled, and fortunately didn’t try to persuade her otherwise again.

-

Liebgott watched as Ev greeted yet another man with an exuberant hug.

“Why do they get hugs?” Babe whined, watching enviously as Ev interacted with these strangers.

Talbert shrugged. “She said they took her in the last time she was in Paris.”

Liebgott looked at him sharply. “What, seriously? She nuts or something? What the hell was she thinking, going off with some random guy.”

“It seems to have worked out, though,” Christenson said.

“Pierre is a good man,” said Julian, interrupting. Liebgott glared at him, but the man didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, much to Liebgott’s annoyance. He didn’t like eavesdroppers. “Our _Jeanne_ met Pierre’s wife and son on the train.”

“Why the hell do you call her that? _Jeanne_ ,” Babe sneered the title. “Her name is Eve.”

“J _eanne d’Arc_. Surely you know the story?” said Julian. “ _Jeanne d’Arc_ was the woman sent from God to help the dauphin save France from the invading English. She is a patron saint of Paris.”

“Didn’t the dauphin send her back to the English to be raped and tortured before burning her at the stake?” said Babe, the Catholic boy in him coming out. “We are talking about Joan of Arc right?”

“We still remember what we owe. Mademoiselle Buchanan may not be the voice of God, but she has the same spirit, and we honor her the way we should have.”

“What you owe,” scowled Liebgott. “What about all those French snipers we had to deal with?”

“Traitorous hearts are always among us,” Julian said fiercely. “We have all lost something to the Germans. Look around! While you were isolating yourselves across the ocean, our country has suffered under the yolk of terror for five long years. Untold numbers have fallen to the Nazis brutality. The Resistance had to take precautions. All of our leaders were slaughtered, one by one, and countless others tortured for information. One of our members, young Rémi over there,” he nodded to a young man with curly brown hair that looked just a shade too young to be a replacement. “Had his fingernails ripped out by Nazi interrogators on information from one of our own. He hadn’t yet turned fifteen. This is just one example of thousands I could offer.”

“I didn’t see any of you resistance types when we landed in Normandy,” Liebgott answered back.

“If you could see us, so could the Germans,” Julian answered. “We had to be careful. Our information was spotty at best from General De Gaulle. We eliminated as many Nazi leaders as we could. But our families are starving. We did not have the luxury of preparation afforded to our Dutch friends. The Nazis overwhelmed us within weeks. By the time they arrived in Paris, it was too late. We did what we could to sabotage them, but even the smallest acts of defiance carried heavy costs.”

“If the cost was so heavy, why didn’t you join up?”

“Join what? We have no army. And just because Paris wasn’t destroyed by bombs doesn’t mean the seeds of chaos were not sown deeply in her through corruption and greed. The whole governmental system needs to be eradicated down to its core, washed away, and formed anew before France can stand strong once more. There is still much work to be done, my friend, and it needs to start right here. The war we fight is not Nazis any longer, but the evil they left behind. But none of it would be possible without you, without what your countrymen have sacrificed for mine. So let us forget our differences and instead spend today praising the God of all, drink the wine,” he grabbed a bottle by the neck from Camille and took a quick swig from the mouth before holding it out to Liebgott, “and let the world be the world.”

Liebgott considered the persuasive words and the man who’d spoken them, and felt himself being swayed by the bright, hopeful future they painted. He grinned. “I’ll drink to that!” He took the proffered bottle and took his own hearty swig of the sweetly tart wine.

A cheer went up as he passed the bottle back.

-

Eve smiled, certain that Liebgott finally understood what she’d tried fruitlessly to explain. “He’s a very talented speaker,” she said to Pierre.

“ _Oui_ ,” he agreed. “Julian has always had a way with words. Let’s get you a drink, my friend.”

“Good luck with that,” said Christenson, overhearing. “Ev doesn’t drink.”

Pierre grinned, looking slyly at Eve. “Does she not? How strange, I recall personally witnessing her have several drinks.”

“You holding out on us, Ev?” cried Talbert with a happy grin on his face now that the tension had gone out of the room.

“Someone had to be the grownup, Tab!” she replied as Pierre handed her a glass of beer. She drank the whole glass in one long pull, just to be ornery, tilting the finished glass into the shining lights to the cheers of her rowdy friends.

“I’ll have another,” she said with a smile as Camille obligingly slid her another glass.

The door opened, letting in the warm sunlight. Alley choked on his drink, nearly splashing the unfortunate Babe as he gawked at the woman who’d just sauntered into the bar, trim waist highlighted by her flaring skirt, flashing claves and a cleverly tilted hat. Red lips parted in a smile, revealing perfectly glistening teeth. “ _Jeanne_!”

“Brigette!” said Eve smiling, recognizing the beautiful woman immediately as she came over to brush her cheeks in a much more delicate exchange of kisses than the men had greeted her with.

“I heard you were back, but I had to see for myself,” the woman said before turning with the timing of an actor to acknowledge the openly gawping stares of the Americans. “Who are your friends?”

With a poorly concealed grin of her own, Eve introduced them watching with bemusement as the men offered Brigitte their chairs and complimented everything she was wearing and started showing off in what they probably assumed was a subtle manner, but was about as obvious as a yellow school bus, each vying for her attention.

Oddly enough, Brigette singled Babe out of the crowd. “I love your red hair,” she murmured in his ear, which, with the rest of his face, flushed a violent red that clashed terribly with his hair, as the other soldiers watched enviously.

Eve tried not to laugh.

“ _Est-ce qu'on pourrait emprunter ta chambre, Julian_ ,” Brigette asked.

“ _Si je réponds non, tu vas m'écouter_?”

“ _Non. Après tout, c'est quand même la chambre de Camille. Ça ne te dérange pas, Camille_?”

The barmaid, also hiding a smile, laughed and nodded. Brigette grabbed Babe by the jacket and started pulling him towards the stairs.

“ _Changez les draps une fois que vous aurez fini_!” Julian called, a frantic note in his voice for the first time in Eve’s recollection.

Eve laughed, guessing more than half of that exchange as Babe eagerly followed the bombshell up the stairs for Julian’s room.

“What’s so funny?” sniped Alley, but he looked so dejected she didn’t take offense.

She clapped him on the shoulder and went back to her drink. “She’s going to eat him alive.”

-

About an hour later, Brigette and Babe came back downstairs, looking tousled. Babe accepted his well-earned teasing with the good grace of it being well deserved and well worth it.

The pub had filled in the preceding hour to a similar lively crowd to that of Eve’s first visit. The Easy Company soldiers didn’t spend a dime, having a never-ending list of men willing to buy their drinks.

The door opened once more, letting in Easy Company’s foursome of officers. The men hardly paused in their revelry to acknowledge the intimidating men.

Nixon made his way easily to Eve, sliding into an empty chair at the table their group had eventually acquired without so much as a by your leave. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find, Buchanan?” he teased.

“Jesus Christ,” said Welsh, sitting himself. “I thought we’d never find it!”

“This seat taken, Buchanan?” asked Winters, indicating the final empty chair, temporarily abandoned by Liebgott some minutes ago.

She scanned the bar and found Liebgott well engaged in talking to a very pretty French woman with sizeable breasts. If she had a guess, he wouldn’t miss the chair at all. “All yours, sir.”

He sat. Spiers stole a vacant chair from a neighboring table and added it to their collection. It was a tight fit, but no one seemed to mind.

“Well this is a pleasant little hole in the wall,” remarked Nixon. “How the hell did you find this place, Ev?”

“Pierre brought me here the first time I came to Paris.” Eve nodded at the man sitting on her left. “He and his wife were kind enough to give me a tour of this fair city when I came to Paris just after Holland.”

“He was, huh?” said Nixon, sizing the man up. “Do I need to be worried about this?” He asked Eve. “I can be worried about this.”

“He and his beautiful wife,” said Eve, trying valiantly not to blush at the implications Nixon was heavy handedly implying.

“Wife, huh?” said Welsh, catching Nixon’s drift and honing in on the subtext Eve hadn’t even considered before.

“For pity sake!” she cried, not even offended when the duo started laughing at her. “I’m going to get another one. Anyone want another one?”

“Sure,” said Speirs.

“Whisky for me,” said Nixon.

“Same!” cried Welsh.

Eve went, quickly, abandoning her own half-full glass in the quest to quickly get away from the increasingly awkward questions happening behind her.

-

By the time she returned, the men had settled into what appeared – on the surface, at least – to be a friendly conversation.

“We are very grateful to you men,” Julian was saying. “To all Americans for coming to France’s rescue.”

“Happy to help,” said Winters with a smile, accepting the glass of water Eve set before him with a smile.

She slid the rest of the glasses into eagerly awaiting hands.

“We were just talking about you, Ev,” said Nixon.

She rolled her eyes. “What did I do now?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Welsh. “I didn’t know you drank, Ev.”

“Only when I don’t have to deal with babysitting,” said Eve.

The men laughed and drank together.

She caught Pierre’s eye. “What?”

He was beaming at her. “It is good to see you so happy.”

She ducked her head, surprised that he’d noticed.

“Where is Madeleine?” The man seemed somehow incomplete without her.

“She had to pick up Louis from school. I have no doubt she will be here later with him, for he has missed you dearly.”

Smiling, she said, “I missed him too,” and she found that she had. “I missed all of this,” she said as she looked on to her laughing friends, many happier than she had seen them in what must have been years.

He knew that she did not mean just the bar, and offered her a toast, which she accepted, taking a swig of her new cider, and watched her boys relax.

-

“You were right,” Liebgott said as the bus holding Easy Company rumbled back towards Mourmelon.

Eve smiled and didn’t push it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, seeing the smile anyway. “Don’t go rubbing it in.”

“I didn’t say anything,” said Eve.

He glared.

“I heard you thinking it all the way over here, Ev,” said Babe from the seat behind them.

She smiled broadly. “Which is why I didn’t have to say it.”

“Shut up, Buchanan!”

“So what are you going to do with that basket of goodies, Ev?” Babe asked, eyeing the overflowing basket hopefully, “You’re gonna share, right?”

Eve popped a bottle of whiskey out of the basket and whistled appreciatively at the year, before saying, “Oh, I don’t think so. After all, I thought the French were stingy,” she said as she dogged his grabby hands. “Thought they were unappreciative?”

“Wha? Nah, I never said that!” he said.

“Yeah, you musta misheard!” Talbert added.

“That they were ungrateful!” she cried as she ducked away from grabbing hands, laughing at their denials.

She eventually relinquished, after they promised to never say a word against the French again, and passed out things with the admonishment to share as they bounced their way back to Mourmelon.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I remember reading that Speirs led field trips around London and Paris a few years ago, but have since lost that reference. Though this chapter is likely not as historically accurate as the others, I hope you still enjoyed it regardless.
> 
> Also, as always, if you'd like a translation of the French above, please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Updates are still every Thursday. I really appreciate all the support. You guys are all amazing.


	48. News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve and Easy Company took a break and went off to Paris to meet some of Eve's old friends.
> 
> "He Is Not Dead
> 
> I cannot say, and I will not say  
> That he is dead. He is just away.  
> With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand,  
> He has wandered into an unknown land  
> And left us dreaming how very fair  
> It needs must be, since he lingers there.  
> And you—oh you, who the wildest yearn  
> For an old-time step, and the glad return,  
> Think of him faring on, as dear  
> In the love of There as the love of Here.  
> Think of him still as the same. I say,  
> He is not dead—he is just away."  
> ― James Whitcomb Riley
> 
> Now: Easy Company goes to Germany and get's news from the homefront, but not all news is good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001, Atman, and FandomlyCroft all dedicated their time to helping me get this chapter out to you. They are all amazing. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 48-

Easy Company returned to Mourmelon. Camp life was no more interesting than it had been before Paris, but at least there was a mission in sight. Rumor had it that Easy Company was going to be a part of the drop on Berlin.

But there wasn’t going to be a drop until the Allied armies had gotten across the Rhine.

When the orders came down for a drop, Eve wasn’t the only person who was disheartened to realize that the 101st was not going to participate. Ike had given the mission to take the Rhineland to the 17th, ostensibly to save the 101st for the promised jump on Berlin, if Speirs was to be believed, but that didn’t make anyone feel better when they watched those C-47s depart without them.

By the time Easy got put back on the line it was almost April. The Allies had pushed the Germans back across the Rhine. Reports said that the Krauts had fought fiercely for each scrap of land as they were forced inch by inch, mile by mile back through the Bulge.

Ike needed someone to bolster the ring around the newly captured Ruhr valley and the 101st was available.

Easy Company had been sent to a small town called Sturzelberg, some miles north of Cologne, near the western most border of Germany. They'd finally made it to the Fatherland.

On the surface, Struzelberg seemed to have completely escaped the hardship of war. There was no evidence of bombing, or death, which made it unique amongst the places Easy had visited. There was fierce fighting still going on to the south of them, but Easy Company didn’t see any of it. It was almost as if once they'd forced the Krauts back into the German homeland, they enemy had lost the will to keep struggling.

They appeared to have given up.

Eve wasn't convinced the Krauts were as finished as command wanted them to be. She remembered how certain the Brass had been that the Germans were finished back in December, too.

On the other side of Bastogne, Eve could only look back with dismay on the foolhardy confidence they'd had – she'd had – when asserting that the war was all but over. The Allies had been caught with their pants down, that’s for sure, and outcome aside, Eve wasn’t prepared to make the same mistake again.

And yet, there was something strangely like hope that took hold, an odd feeling that they could survive if they took care; that they were going to make it home safe, more or less intact.

Eve tried to keep on her guard – they were in enemy territory and the Germans would be twice as determined now that they were fighting on home ground – even though there appeared to be absolutely nothing and nobody to fight. They were trapped in a strange limbo, where they were ready to fight, but there was no one to fight against; the enemy had all gone home.

Eventually, she realized with some shock, that she was bored. And she wasn't the only one.

The undamaged buildings made it easy for the men to fraternize with the German women. It kept morale high, but it turned Eve's stomach if she thought about it too closely, especially when she remembered Dutch women crying as their heads were shaved to display their shame.

But intact houses also meant that the men could loot to their heart's content. Eve didn't mind that so much. History was littered with conquerors taking spoils. She remembered her uncle’s bare walls and empty rooms, stripped of everything that makes a house a home, and decided not to care in the least about the rampant theft.

Speirs was the worst offender, breaking into abandoned wealthy houses for any valuables he could carry to the post office. His favorite item to pilfer was silverware, the genuine heavy stuff that Eve's mama would've used.

Despite her feelings, her memories, Eve refrained from looting herself. It felt odd taking valuables from houses that were still occupied. She couldn’t bring herself to do to others what had been done to her uncle.

She contented herself to passing out forms and offering advice on what was worth taking and what should be left behind.

Most of the guys looted for trinkets to ship home to their wives or mothers. It seemed that the majority of the boys had concluded that Eve knew how all women would receive the gifts, as though she were the mouthpiece for every American woman's taste in jewelry and art.

These discussions all ended the same anyway. Eve told the man that if he’d picked it out for her, his intended recipient would like it (or at least pretend to for a while) – even as she secretly pitied the woman getting the rather hideous multicolored broach that Alley was sending home. Surprisingly, they all seemed satisfied with this answer and happily filled out the requisite paperwork she handed them.

After a few days, Eve decided that, all in all, Germany wasn't so bad. There was no one shooting at her, no one was dying, and they were billeted in actual houses at night with a sturdy bed for everyone, made up with sheets and comforters thicker than their regulated army blankets. Plus, Eve had access to working plumbing for the first time since Pierre’s house in Paris, which meant a bathroom with a door that locked and toilet paper.

Even though everyone had similar accommodations, Eve still protested vehemently when Winters first suggested that she bunk in the CP with the rest of the officers. She’d wanted to stay with the men, the way she always had, but Winters put his foot down.

"Buchanan,” he said, pulling her to the side. “You need to be on hand when Captain Speirs needs you. Now, will you stop complaining about having a real bed, for Pete's sake, and just enjoy it while it lasts?"

"Yes, sir,” she said, unable to say anything else.

When she'd slipped into bed that night, she let herself dwell on the thought of home for the first time since leaving for England.

She’d left her family in a bit of a shambles. She hadn’t received a single letter from her mother since declining the ride home. The ones she’d received from the others had been short and stilted. She didn’t regret her decision to stay with her friends, but she did regret that the rift between her and her family had widened.

As Eve lay in bed, she found that she couldn't even imagine beautiful Virginia anymore. When she thought of attending one of her mother's fancy parties, laughing and dancing without a care, she couldn't even picture herself a part of it all anymore.

It was like she was a missing puzzle piece that had warped and wouldn't fit anymore.

She wished she could go back in time and tell her younger self that war wasn't a grand adventure, as she'd often imagined; it was a lot of waiting around for something to happen in between moments of terror and watching helplessly as your friends die around you.

Feeling the safest she had in a long while, Eve allowed the tears and the regrets to come, washing her into tumultuous dreams.

When Eve woke up the next morning, she pushed the doubts that had plagued her all night behind her. She took a moment to freshen up in the bathroom before she went downstairs to the common area of the CP to see what today had in store. As far as she knew they weren't moving on anytime soon, but that could change at a moment's notice.

"Hey, Ev," said Luz, spotting her as she came down the stairs. He was still a near constant fixture in the CP as acting supply officer, though they were due to get a replacement soon; actually, the nervous looking private next to him was probably there to learn the ropes. "Wanna go scrounge for eggs with me and Perco?"

"You're on your own, George," she said with a wry smile.

“Suit yourself, Ev. I’ll save some eggs for you, though, all right?”

She smiled and nodded her assent, knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk him out of it.

"All right, Smitty," the radioman said, addressing the kid standing next to him. "While I'm gone I want you to…"

"Buchanan!" called Speirs. Eve left Luz and "Smitty" with a reassuring smile for the replacement, and headed towards the Captain.

"Yes, sir?"

"I need you to set up a patrol roster. Draft them from First and Third. Winters wants patrols scanning the area around town for resistance. And make sure there's a team manning the machinegun OP on the main roads through town. Two man teams should be fine. I've got the MPs conducting security sweeps on all vehicles going through the checkpoint. But I want you to make sure that there's a Toccoa man with all of the new replacements. We're not anticipating trouble, but Winters wants to be prepared."

"You got it, sir," she said, already composing the roster in her head.

 _Talbert's squad and Grant’s for the first two patrols,_ she decided. _Hashey and Garcia would be good for a first OP shift. They've been particularly antsy recently. Second’s newest kid, O'Keefe, is due some excitement as well. Perconte is probably the least likely to throttle the chipper replacement, and he has experience in both machine gun posts and babysitting replacements from that time in Bastogne. They'll probably do well together… Maybe I should swing by and watch the MP inspection just to make sure nothing’s slipping through, I need a report from them anyway…_

"Also, there will be another current events reading this afternoon," he said, smirking.

Nobody liked current events readings, especially Eve because she'd been the poor sap in charge of them since Mourmelon. She bit back a noise of exasperation. There was very little she liked less than standing up in front of the whole of Easy Company, unanimously bored out of their minds, and reading through whatever Command deemed necessary for the soldiers to know about what was going on in the rest of the world. There was precious little about what they all actually wanted to hear about – how the war was going. It was mostly a waste of time since anything pertinent was censored anyways.

"Captain Nixon will be doing the honors,” said Speirs, sparing her the misery with a conspiratorial smirk. “He just got transferred back down from division, so I'll need you to make sure he gets everything he needs on time."

"Yes, sir," she said, poorly hiding her gratitude; she’d never been any good at standing in front of people, hate it almost as fiercely as excess paperwork.

Besides, Nixon was far better at making irrelevant news sound interesting than she was.

Speirs’s announcement of Nixon’s return to the battalion level would probably be a surprise for some – the man was frighteningly competent at his job – but Eve had been hearing the rumblings from Sink's staff whenever the Colonel came to speak with Winters. Sink didn't like Nixon's drinking and he hadn't made much of a secret of it.

Eve privately thought that Nixon would be happier back working for Winters, despite the pay cut. Plus, she knew she wasn’t the only one who’d missed having him around. Battalion HQ was always close by, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him all the time in Bastogne.

She waited until mid-afternoon, when she got the news packet, and then rounded up the lay-a-bouts not on duty, sending them to the courtyard at the center of town that they’d commandeered for the last three days straight at noon for the reading of said news packets, before she tracked Nixon down.

It wasn’t hard to find him. Nixon was lurking outside Winters's office, puffing on a smoke as he stared fixedly at the wall.

Eve had never seen the man so unsettled. She could tell from here that he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep. His hair was in complete disarray and the hand not holding his smoke to his lips trembled and there was pain pinching his eyes together. He’d been gone for a few days, sent along with the 17th as an observer for their jump and probably just gotten back.

From his posture alone, Eve could tell that it hadn’t gone well.

"Sir," she said, pulling the man from his brooding.

"Ev, how are you doing?" he said, giving her an empty smile she’d never seen from him before.

"Well, sir," she answered, worried. Something had definitely happened on the drop, but Eve knew him well enough not to question him about it. If he'd had the chance to talk to Winters about whatever it was, it didn't seem to have helped.

She bit her lip, reaching for something to say, but Nixon wasn’t looking at her anymore. His gaze was on something far away, beyond the plain wall in front of him.

There was nothing else she could do for him. So she did for him what helped her most when things weighed too heavily on her. She held out the news reports and gave him something else to concentrate on for a little while. "I have the censor approved news here for you, sir. The men are already assembled in the courtyard; well, those not on duty."

He was too professional to groan as he took the papers, thumbing through them with disgust. "I guess its show time."

She grinned, glad he’d been shaken from his melancholy but also – again – that it wasn’t her, and let him lead the way to the courtyard.

They parted ways. Nixon stood in the open area that the boys had arranged several appropriated chairs to face. Eve slipped into the chair Liebgott had saved her and pulled out the deck of cards she'd bought in France.

As soon as she started to shuffle, there was a group of chairs around her asking to be dealt in. Eve smiled and obliged.

These weekly news reports were the only news they got and generally anyone who spoke English turned up to hear it (including some finely dressed Germans), but due to the military censors, very little of it was actually relevant to the soldiers. Attendance was mandatory, but no one cared if you actually paid attention or not.

Today, Eve started up a rummy game with the ever smoking Luz and Martin to stave off boredom, grateful she was in the audience for once.

After the third time she caught him staring at her hand, she offered to deal Liebgott in, but he very politely told her, "Hell, no," and went back to trying to peek at her cards.

The news went on and on. Eve cycled through players as people drifted in and out to go on patrol or got fed up with her winning.

"The Cooperative for America Remittance to Europe, or CARE," said Nixon dryly. Eve could tell he was dying to poke fun at that, but somehow refrained. She couldn't quite stifle her own huff of laughter though, which had Liebgott digging into her ribs as she slowed the game down to do it. It was her turn; she played a card. "Has begun assembling food packages stateside to assist those European families in dire need… which is presumably all of them."

Eve laughed outright at that, quietly because she was the only one even half listening. Granted, this was the fifteenth useless piece of information they'd been spoon fed over the last hour, and Nixon hadn't even flipped over the page of the clipboard he was reading his notes from.

"So, ah, notes home to your family reminding them to donate whatever they can would be much appreciated."

Eve focused on her cards and laid out her matched hand with a triumphant cry of "Rummy!" taking the smokes Martin and Luz had put up as bets. They scowled and grumbled, but ultimately pulled out more for a buy-in. Gamely, Eve dealt another round.

"I'm sure you'll all be happy to know _Oklahoma_ is still playing on Broadway!" declared Nixon, steeling himself.

A general, sarcastic, cheer went up from the guys around Eve. She’d never seen the show, but she’d heard enough about it, it was nearly inescapable back home, but she’d never cared for it.

"Luz, don't sing," begged Eve with a grimace as she discarded.

The man grinned at her cheekily, and promptly ignored her. "OOOak-lahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!" Luz belted with such honest enthusiasm that half the guys joined in, some bluffing their way through the words, but if Eve was being honest, the chorus didn't sound half bad.

Eve did not join in. Instead, she watched with amusement as Nixon started directing the ragtag chorus with his finger, an honest to God smile on his face. If the whole thing wasn't so ridiculous, she'd probably have counted it a victory in lightening his mood. Her own smile was hurting her cheeks.

"When the wind comes –" Luz cut everyone off with a wave of his hand, leaving O'Keefe, the replacement she’d paired with Perconte for the patrol later, to finish the high note all by his lonesome.

Eve tuned out what else was going on so she could concentrate on her hand. She went with her gut and discarded.

Luz refocused long enough to play his turn after Liebgott nudged him in the shoulder with his feet; Eve tried not to notice that the feet in question were propped up on the table.

"Rummy," declared Eve as she pulled the last card she needed. She laughed at the loud groan that came from the other players.

"That's twice in a row!" cried Martin. "Lieb, are you sure she's not cheatin'?" he demanded, staring down at the ruin of his own hand.

"I swear to God," promised Liebgott, genuinely baffled at how lucky Eve had been last round. "She got dealt one run and picked the rest!"

Eve grinned and started shuffling for the next round.

"Ah, war time news!" cried Nixon, getting to the part everyone had been waiting for.

Eve perked up with everyone else and paid attention.

"Resistance in the Ruhr-Park is crumbling. It looks like there might be a breakout in Remagen." A grunt of confusion came from Luz, so Nixon added, "Apparently, the Krauts forgot to blow up one of the bridges when they headed back over the Rhine." He looked up. "I guess our boys in the 17th Airborne did okay after all." He sounded hopeful, but she heard a hint of mourning and honest surprise in his tone.

"Ah, forget it," said Luz. "We'd be in Berlin by now, sir, if it was us instead of them, huh?"

Nixon met Eve's eyes, and she saw the fear there, the dread of what might've happened if it had been them selected to go on that mission.

_What the hell happened on that drop?_

Every drop was a risk. It was far more common to have drops like D-Day – where half of them didn’t make it to the ground – than ones like Holland – where it was sunshine and open, empty fields.

Setting aside her fear and sudden nausea, Eve went back to her cards, grateful that Germany had been quiet for Easy Company so far.

When Nixon finally finished, it was time to rotate the patrols. Eve decided to go through with her plan to tag along with Perconte and O'Keefe as they headed out to the OP. She needed that report from the MPs manning the checkpoint and figured she might as well take advantage of some company.

After only a few blocks, it became apparent that she'd been wrong about Perconte being patient with the replacement. Perconte was walking quickly to get away from the kid, sending the occasional dirty look his way already, and they hadn't even started their watch yet.

It was O'Keefe's first patrol and it showed. He walked down the peaceful street with his gun up and ready. Eve had her weapon casually slung over her shoulder, confident that they'd hear any danger well in advance of actually needing it.

Besides, there hadn't even had a whiff of German resistance yet.

She strolled along, hands in her pockets, admiring the day. It was finally starting to really look like spring. The trees had bright green leaves tipping their barren branches. It was a good day to be alive.

She drifted to the side of the road for the truck rumbling towards town. "Perconte! Sergeant! How you doin'?" called a man's voice as the truck passed by.

Perconte brightened and gave them a smile, watching the truck head back with envy. Eve gave a halfhearted wave, still focused on the scenery.

"Sarge?" said O'Keefe tentatively. He was following her and Perconte like a lost puppy now, having slowed down to gawk at the truck.

Eve looked at the man who had to swallow to find his voice again. She needed to figure out what had made this batch of replacements act so oddly before one of them choked on his tongue trying to make small talk.

After clearing his throat, O'Keefe asked, "When do you think we're gonna jump into Berlin 'n see some real action?"

"You in a rush?" asked Perconte, butting in with exasperation, and rolling his eyes.

"No," said O'Keefe, catching up as Perconte slowed down to talk with him. Eve let them fall behind and pressed on.

"So what?" Perconte asked the replacement. "You wanna go home with a Congressional Medal of Honor or something?"

"No," said the kid, sounding offended. He probably knew that he'd misstepped, but wasn’t sure how to fix it. "I just thought I'd ask."

"Yeah, well, why don't you do us all a favor?" drawled Perconte. "Don't think." He caught up with Eve, mumbling, "Damn replacements."

Eve bit her tongue. He was being a little hard on the kid, sure, but O'Keefe needed a backbone if he was going to survive Easy Company; that was relatively mild compared to what Bill Guarnere or Joe Toye might've said.

"We're probably not going to jump into Berlin any time soon, O'Keefe," she placated. "Don't start packing your parachute just yet."

The private nodded but decided against speaking again, darting an uneasy look at the still fuming Perconte.

Further conversation became impossible as they separated; Eve headed towards the checkpoint and they went to relieve Garcia and Hashey from the OP.

She put Perconte and O'Keefe from her mind as she straightened, approaching the two Military Police on duty. MPs were part of HQ Company, not directly with Easy. She outranked them, but it was always a tricky business working with MPs. Eve wasn't sure how to handle them in accordance with her position as First Sergeant.

"First Sergeant," said one, handing her a paper with a salute.

Surprised, Eve saluted back. Most of Easy had completely forgone saluting after Haguenau. She glanced down at the paper and nodded at the report in her hand.

"As you were," she said, tucking the papers away in her pocket for Winters and Speirs to go over later. "Do you mind if I watch the next inspection?"

"Not at all ma'am," said the other soldier. Eve looked him over and didn't recognize his face. He must be another replacement.

She nodded and stayed to the side, out of the way and watched a horse drawn carriage approach. Her attention was momentarily drawn down to the OP when Garcia let lose a violent Spanish curse and flung whatever was in his mug out of the shelter.

"Hold it!" cried an MP, pulling her attention back to the cart which was now within hearing distance. "Steady down back there!" the MP called to the driver.

She watched the two men doing a typical search, which – to Eve's puzzlement – boiled down to checking that the man had the correct paperwork and nothing else.

Not ten seconds after stopping the man, the MP passed back the paperwork and said, "Okay, move on."

Neither MP bothered to search the wagon, despite the potential for contraband, let alone hidden caches. Valid papers or not, the man could be carrying messages about their strength in the town to some German military post.

It was a slip that invited all kinds of trouble. She was tired of trouble. They had orders to disturb the population as little as possible, but this was ridiculous.

Eve took a deep breath to keep from reprimanding them and bitterly watched the wagon roll away. The MPs were not in her jurisdiction. But it was incredibly frustrating to see the job done so badly out of laziness.

After the wagon had passed, and the MP’s had replaced the roadblock, Eve gave them a grimace of a smile. The two took this to be a dismissal and went back to gossiping together.

Eve walked away before she gave into the urge to scold them. She needed to inform Speirs that searches weren't being done in a manner conducive to finding anything secretive being passed on through civilian vehicles. That man could’ve been carrying anything.

She spent the walk back to town seething.

-

Eve found Winters and Speirs in the CP standing before a giant colored map of Germany discussing the day's patrols. At the desk, Lewinski was pounding out reports at a typing speed which Eve couldn't even dream of matching. She waited politely for her turn to speak as the commanders went over the day's findings.

"Neither patrol found a single Kraut," reported Speirs. "There were none here either." He traced the line he meant on the map.

"They'll be across the river by now. Let's send out a night patrol," suggested Winters, "Check out the embankment on the far side."

A quick knock interrupted them. The door popped open, without waiting for Winters's signal to enter.

_It must be Nix._

Sure enough, Nixon barged in, white as a sheet. He glanced around the room, seeing her there, and didn’t pause. "The President's dead," he announced. The words dropping like a bomb in the empty room.

Eve felt like someone had just yanked the bottom of her stomach to the floor. Her hands found the table behind her down, knees too fragile to hold her anymore.

“Are you sure?” she asked, voice sounding reedy and far away by the time it reached her ears.

Her eyes frantically scanned Nixon’s face, desperately searching for a lie, for a mistake.

_It isn’t possible._

_He isn’t allowed to die. He has to be there when I get back._

_He can’t be gone._

She swayed unsteadily, the floor shifting out from under her boots, eyes darting for the exit as she felt her lungs compress under a heavy weight. She was drowning. Regret, anger, rage, helplessness, defeat, it wasn’t a sensation any word could encompass and it swarmed over her, leaving her skin feeling like she’d been stung by a whole hive of angry bees. She felt robbed, cheated of the chance to spend more time with her godfather, let alone say goodbye to him.

Why had she gone off to join the army? What else had she missed while she was away?

The President was more than just the symbol who’d pulled the entire nation out of an economic decline and saw them through the war. He was her Uncle Franklin, the man who let her sit on his lap while he rolled his chair down the hallways. He taught her politics and the art of warfare. He’d been her silent supporter, instrumental in making her dream come true.

And she hadn’t been there for him.

 _Jesus_.

She felt guilty and anxious and burdened and like a hole had been carved out of her chest, a gaping wound for everyone to see; like God had reached in and yanked something vital from her.

Tears fell from her eyes, one by one, and she allowed herself a single sob which became two or three before she grasped desperately for the reins on her feelings, pulling them back into herself as she sat down.

She shut everything off to deal with later and composed herself.

Eve looked around, blinking as she realized all three men were staring at her. Mortified, she tried to swallow her emotions completely. She could deal with it later, in private.

She should write a letter to Eleanor.

“Are you okay, Ev?” said Nixon.

She looked up at him, surprised they were still in the room.

Speirs looked lost, he’d come a step closer but paused, seemingly torn between coming over to comfort her and running away. Winters just looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” she lied, dashing the tears from her cheeks.

“Did you know him?” Winters asked.

She was surprised they didn’t know. “He was my godfather.”

“I’m so sorry, Ev,” said Nixon, seemingly at a loss for what to do with his hands. “I’d have told you privately if I’d known.”

“It’s all right, sir,” she said, shaking her head as she pulled her tattered composure around her like a cloak. “Here are those reports you wanted from the checkpoint. They're not searching the vehicles at all, sir, and I'm concerned that information could slip out that way if it's not addressed.”

"We don't want to hinder these people any more than necessary, but I'll take it under advisement. If you need some time, Buchanan,” said Winters.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. “But I think I’d rather just get back to work.” She waited for his nod. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, Eve,” said Winters. “You’re dismissed.”

Eve saluted the men and left the room, desperately needing to write her family. She couldn’t imagine what her godmother Eleanor was going through, let alone how she would ever be able to put her devastation on paper.

Desperate for a moment alone, just one to pull herself a bit more together, Eve ducked into an open bedroom, making sure it was empty before closing the door behind her and leaning on it. She squeezed her brow and tried to swallow her emotions.

Just below the grief was panic, starting to claw at her. It was only because of her godfather that she'd made it into the Army. A curl of dread joined the grief in her gut.

Truman could pull it away from her. She didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t have Easy Company. She couldn’t imagine going home to face her family in their grief, after she’d selfishly missed the last three years of his life.

A rational part of her hoped that her place wasn’t in danger. She was a very minuscule piece of a very large puzzle for Truman to worry over, especially when he had two wars going on and a legacy to fulfill, but the notion that he could simply decide to bow to popular opinion and ship her home without asking her opinion on the matter was very real and terrifying. It wouldn't matter that she'd earned her place here; that Sink had said that once she was in the paratroopers, she was in to stay.

Truman could simply decide she wasn’t worth the threat to public opinion.

The more she dwelt on the possibility, the more certain she became that he would do just that.

She swallowed her panic and got back to work.

When she was finally finished, the rest of the day passing in a blurry haze, she decided to get started on those letters.

It took her over an hour to find the words and then put them on paper in the proper order. She was devastated by the loss, angry at God for taking him before she could properly thank him for giving her this amazing gift, before he could for himself see how well she’d done.

She tossed several batches of ruined paper into the trash, stained with tears and angry slashed through scribbles of frustration. No matter how many times she tried, no matter what she said, the words sounded hollow, empty platitudes devoid of meaning and depth. He deserved far better than the meager efforts she could conjure, but the efforts wrung something vital from her as she tried and failed over and over again to adequately explain.

It was early evening before she had something she was satisfied with, before she was finally ready to send off her letters.

Eve made her way to their makeshift post office, hoping it was still open.

Fortunately, Vest was still there to greet her with a smile.

She handed him her letters. “Can you send them along as soon as possible, please Vest?”

"Of course, Sergeant, I'll send these off tomorrow morning with all the others. You've got some incoming mail too. I was gonna drop it round the CP tonight, but you've saved me the trip."

Eve took the mail, already dreading the contents and certain she already knew what was inside them.

She idly thought it odd that the mail had only managed to catch up to them now that they were in enemy territory, but brushed that thought aside as she opened the first of the letters.

It was from her mother.

She had to read it twice before it truly sank in.

The world jerked out from underneath her feet for the second time in a few short hours. She couldn't drag breath into her lungs, and every beat of her heart ached as though a fist gripped it tight and squeezed. She didn't even notice the tears that skated down her cheeks.

"First Sergeant Buchanan?" said Vest, his hand suddenly on her shoulder.

Eve jumped; she hadn't realized he was so close. She held the letter to her chest, not wanting anyone else to see, lest it make the words true.

"Is everything all right?" asked the man, obviously worried.

Eve cleared her throat and tucked the letter into her pocket. "Everything is fine," she lied, leaving the post office before he could protest, before the tenuous grasp she had on her façade cracked in two.

The letter hadn’t said anything about her godfather at all.

It was much worse.

Alex was dead.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are every Thursday. Thank you so much for reading and to those of you who left feedback or added me to various lists. The support for this story has just been amazing. See you all next week.
> 
> P.S. I'm sorry!


	49. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve got news from home that hit her hard.
> 
> "Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break." ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth
> 
> Now: Eve deals with her grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Atman and Laura001 worked diligently on this chapter and helped make it what it is. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Also, special thanks to AngelicSentinel for helping me out with the surprise ending for you all that she lovingly crafted for me for my birthday. All the love, my dear.

-Chapter 49-

Nixon finished his glass of whiskey, relishing the burn he barely noticed anymore as it slid down his throat.

"Pair of queens, bets," said Lipton, laying down his cards on the huge table they’d appropriated for their card game.

Nixon grabbed his bottle of Vat 69, hoping there was enough left over for another shot. He wasn't drunk yet and he wanted to be.

The poker game he was in the middle of wasn’t the distraction he hoped it would be. He usually had fun taking money off Welsh and Speirs, but tonight he needed a deeper diversion from his thoughts. Not even the rare addition of Lipton was enough to hold his attention.

"All right," said Speirs, sounding full of confidence as he slowly counted out a bet to call with. "Two bucks," he announced like it was fifty.

 _Damn it_ , thought Nixon as he inverted the bottle for the last drops of alcohol. _Empty_.

"Nix?" prompted Lipton, watching him with poorly disguised impatience.

"Nah, I'm out," Nixon announced, which seemed to surprise no one. He got up from the table, abandoning the other three officers, and made his way to Winters's vacant room.

 _I should have another bottle in Winters's footlocker. My last bottle, if I’ve counted right_. He'd been keeping track. Well, sort of. He might’ve abandoned a half-empty bottle somewhere. He hadn't been particularly careful last night, only thinking of drinking as much as possible, not worrying about keeping track of his dwindling stock.

It had been such a shitty week that he'd abandoned any pretense of not wanting, needing, to be drunk out of his mind.

Nixon wondered if he could find that half empty one lying around somewhere.

He spied a likely looking bottle when he walked into the room he was sharing with Winters, but when he hefted it, he realized immediately that this bottle was woefully empty as well.

There was another bottle by his bed. He threw it back onto the mattress when he realized that it was empty too.

 _This is taking too long_ , he thought, deciding to postpone his quest until he wasn't too sober to give a fuck.

He made a beeline for the footlocker, shoving the chest open and discarding the top shelf, flinging it somewhere over his shoulder. He lifted up the uniform he always tucked around his fragile bottles.

There was nothing under the shirt. He rooted around, in denial, taking a few more things out in frustration but there was nothing to find. His last precious bottle was gone.

"Goddamn it," snarled Nixon, standing up in disgust. Scenarios flicked through his mind. There were a few options: one, he'd miscounted somewhere along the way, entirely possible; two, Winters had thrown the last bottle away out of concern, always a possibility; three, someone had stolen his last bottle, highly unlikely.

Nixon knew his friend. Winters didn't have the same issues with his drinking that Sink did. As long as Nixon could do his job well, Winters didn't care if he was sober. And the notion that someone would even consider looking in _Winters's_ footlocker for alcohol was ludicrous. It was the perfect hiding place for a reason.

 _I must have miscounted_ , Nixon decided, abandoning the bedroom without bothering with the mess he’d made in his rush to go scour this Godforsaken Kraut town for some whiskey.

He grabbed his jacket from the back of his abandoned chair, tugging it on as he passed through the main room again, interrupting Speirs's comment about "who gets what" to make sure the guys knew to deal him out of the next hand. He was out the door before anyone could ask questions.

He needed to find a drink. And at this point, he was too desperate to be picky.

He’d thundered through the CP in no time and yanked open the door to a slap of cold air hitting him in the face.

 _Great_ , he thought, scanning the barren, silver soaked street before him. _It's raining_.

Undeterred from his goal, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. It wasn't quite a drink, but the routine of lighting the cigarette helped him focus a bit. With a sigh to brace himself against the inevitable drenching he was about to get, Nixon stepped away from the covered awning and headed towards the center of town.

He hadn't gone more than three steps before he’d been soaked clean through both layers of his shirts, pinning the fabric to his shoulders and chest uncomfortably. The ice-cold rain trickled down his neck to torment him. He ignored it for a minute, knowing that he'd been in far worse weather before, when common sense caught up with him, and his feet dragged him towards the covered walkway lining the road to keep rain off shoppers.

_Surely there's gotta be alcohol somewhere in this stupid town._

They'd been in so many ridiculously small, pristine German towns already that they'd all started to blur together. They weren't that much different from the French or Dutch towns either, save the language people shouted as they were turned out of their houses for the night.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a likely option. Looking through the dark windows, he saw promising looking bottles lining the shelves of this small shop.

 _Fuck this_ , he thought, taking a drag on his cigarette, filling his lungs with the warm smoke. The raw wound he'd been trying to drown in alcohol was festering. Why should this German get to keep his happy little store with its intact window, when his countrymen were shooting Americans out of the sky? What right did he have to peace when the boys Nixon had flown with a few days ago, all so young and stupid, were scattered ashes over the countryside?

Nixon flicked his cigarette away and in a fit of passionate rage, latched onto something – a large fuel canteen blindly grabbed from the back of a jeep parked next to the sidewalk. He hurled it through the window. His wrath had pushed him beyond the notion of finesse or stealth. He needed to be drunker. Right now!

A dog started barking, probably awakened by the noise. He ignored the sounds of movement overhead as he stepped over the threshold of the window he'd shattered grimacing as the glass cracked and shifted beneath his boots.

It took less than a minute for him to realize that this wasn't a liquor store at all. He left the way he'd come in with a snarl, "Goddamn drug store!"

All he wanted was a drink, was that too much to ask? He didn't want to think about this day anymore.

Above him, the German proprietor started screaming into the night; awakening the whole block with his outrage that his precious storefront was being vandalized.

Nixon barely acknowledged the MPs as they rushed to go shut the man up. They were dressed in their rain-slickers like sensible people, acknowledging him as they ran passed. In another place, perhaps even in another life, Nixon would have been appalled at the blatant disregard for property damage, but all he could feel was apathy. It was just a German store. Nobody cared what happened to the citizens' personal property after watching all their friends fall, riddled with German bullets.

The water was moving like a river underneath his boots, puddles lapping at the leather sides instead of just the soles, and buckets of it made sure he was wet all the way to his skin. Ignoring these inconveniences, Nixon pressed onwards, deeper into town.

 _It's not like I can get any wetter_ , he thought wryly.

A figure caught his attention from the corner of his eye. He could barely make out the silhouette through the rain, but curiosity wouldn't let him ignore it.

Nixon stopped and, cursing under his breath, went to investigate.

The person shifted and took a swig out of what could only be a bottle of alcohol.

_Maybe he'll share?_

"Hey!" he barked, shouting through the racket of the downpour.

"What!" came a familiar voice.

Nixon frowned. "Ev?"

"Whatdaya want?" she slurred, sounding angry.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. He started making his way over to the almost dry stoop she'd appropriated.

Evelyn Buchanan shrugged and took another pull from the bottle, a very familiar bottle of Vat 69.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded, eyeing the bottle covetously. Maybe it was his lucky night after all? If she'd found one, surely she knew where more were.

"Winters's footlocker," she said with a sly smile.

Nixon roared with laughter, blindsided by her smug answer. It was so incongruous with Eve’s character, he'd never have suspected her if he hadn’t caught her at it red-handed.

"How did you even know about that?" he asked as he got himself back under control. "Winters doesn't drink."

"You told him about it that time," said Eve, gesturing with the bottle. "We were on a train?"

He felt like she was asking him instead of answering the question. The only time he remembered talking about his plans to keep well lubricated while campaigning through Europe was on their way to ship out to England.

"You _were_ there," he realized. "I'd forgotten."

"You're out, by the way," she told him, shaking the bottle.

"I know," he said dryly. He tried to take the bottle from her. It was his after all, and judging by the bottle's half empty nature, she was either sloshed, or well on her way. _Which she doesn’t do_ , he remembered, _because it’s not a good idea for Ev to get sloshed, particularly with a new wave of replacements fresh in from the States._

She tucked the bottle out of reach with a petulant frown. "Mine," she told him. “I found it, fair and square.”

"I'll give it back," he reasoned. "I just want some. I'm out."

She gave him another adorable, if petulant, frown that she may have intended to be threatening or even a glare, but she handed over the bottle anyway, so he swallowed the laugh he was choking on. He took a pull, savoring the taste, before he passed it back. She took one as well, longer than was probably wise at this point, but he wasn't one to judge.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one having a shit day.

They settled into an amicable rhythm of passing the bottle, taking smaller and smaller sips to preserve it for longer.

Eve let out a very impressive belch and followed it with a very feminine giggle. The contradiction in the two actions made Nixon laugh again. She started laughing too, probably laughing because he was laughing, but tipped sideways to lean heavily on the stone railing of the stoop they were occupying.

"Woah!" cried Nixon as he rescued the capsizing bottle. He pulled Eve up too when he realized that she was content to remain tipped over.

Balance drastically compromised, Eve overshot sitting up, and instead ended up leaning on Nixon's shoulder. He wasn't bothered by this development enough to do something about it and left her there.

"Hey, Ev?" he asked as she somehow managed to take a drink without spilling whiskey down her front. It was the kind of impressive coordination that only the drunk can properly manage.

"Ev?" he repeated when she hadn't answered after a minute.

"Wah?" she slurred.

"Why are you out here getting drunk?" he asked, feeling like it was a perfectly reasonable question. He reached for the bottle.

"Why are you?" she countered, passing him the whiskey.

Nixon stared at the label for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should share his woes. He took another pull and decided that it didn't really matter whether she knew or not and told her. "The plane I was in went down."

Eve’s face screwed up in confusion. "When did that happen? You didn't go down."

He gave a laugh that wasn't meant to be joyful. "The jump with the 17th."

"Oh," said Eve.

"Yeah." Nixon took a second pull before passing the increasingly empty bottle back to Eve. "Now, I've got to write all the family notifications." Eve made an adorable questioning noise. "The CO went down with the plane. Guess who was senior?"

"I'm sorry," said Eve, flopping her arm over his shoulders in what might've been a hug if she’d been sober. Instead, she just leaned more fully on him.

“Are you getting drunk because the President died?” he asked, remembering her startling reaction to the news.

“No,” she said. “Well, not just for that,” she amended with another sip.

“So what is it?” Nix asked. “It’s only fair since I told you mine.”

Eve looked at him for a long moment, before sitting up with a sigh. "My brother died," she told him with a grin that didn't match the despair in her eyes.

"Jesus," breathed Nixon as understanding shot through him like lightning. That was rough news to get, especially right after her godfather. _No wonder she's getting drunk_.

She gave a laugh that was closer to a sob. "It was a kamikaze; hit the deck of his ship."

Nixon carefully pulled the bottle from her and set it aside. He tugged the woman, now hunched and sobbing in earnest, into a proper hug, all but yanking her onto his lap as he wrapped her in his arms. Ragged wet sobs tickled his neck as she grieved. There was nothing he could say that could comfort her, so he didn't even try, just held on and rocked her a little, hoping she would find some comfort in that.

Within a few moments, Eve had pulled away and dried her eyes with a wet sleeve, mixing the tears with rainwater to erase the evidence of her sorrow. She deftly found the bottle and finished it off.

"I need another drink," she declared, trying to stand.

He caught her as she wobbled and stood to join her. "I could use one myself."

"Let's get drunk-er-er together!" said Eve.

Nixon decided to stick close to the girl as the alcohol started to hit her and make her wobble and wander back and forth along the sodden road.

They spent the better half of the night wandering the streets. Nixon pretended not to notice when she cried. The deafening sound of rain on cobblestones drowned out whatever small sounds she was making anyway.

Finally, he couldn't take the rain any longer and prodded Eve back to the CP. He made sure she stripped down into warm clothes and dried off before tucking her into a bed. She barely protested as he did so, not even aware enough anymore to form coherent sentences as she passed out from exhaustion.

Nixon tucked her in and went to find his own bunk. He lay awake for hours after that, thinking. Sleep eluding him completely.

He never did find more alcohol but somehow he didn’t mind overly much anymore.

-

The next morning, Eve rolled out of bed far too early. Second Battalion was moving out to Bavaria. Apparently 300,000 German soldiers had just surrendered, and the 506 had little more than an hour to move out.

She was really feeling the effects of the whiskey from last night and had the sickening realization that she didn't remember anything beyond stealing Nixon's Vat 69. That had been sometime after she'd finished the bottle of wine she'd found who knows where by herself; which, in retrospect, may have been the source of the problem.

 _Getting alcohol is far too easy_ , she realized, a little disconcerted. She wondered how many of the men were taking advantage of the easy supply, and decided to think on it later when her head wasn't splitting apart. She had to make sure everyone had everything they needed packed and ready to go.

Despite her misery, Eve did her best to organize the trucks and dispersed the news to the sergeants. She then moved on to figuring out the logistics for how much gas their supply trucks needed. Throughout it all, she found it easier to simply not chat about meaningless frivolities while she worked. She tried to keep her dark mood hidden, but judging from the about-face Liebgott did when he'd seen her earlier, she wasn't doing so well.

"Ev?" came Roe's voice from behind her. "You all right, _cherie_?"

"I'm fine," said Eve, trying not to grind her teeth as Roe stepped in front of her, going around him would be completely rude, but she was about to do it anyway when the doc touched her forehead, his face a mask of concern.

"You don't look so good. Are you sure?"

"Back off, Gene," snarled Eve, her thin patience snapping. "I'm busy."

He didn't budge. "Is your cough back again?"

"No, just a hangover. It's fine."

"A hangover?" Roe said, not bothering to hide his surprise, surprise that quickly morphed into deeper concern. "You were drinking last night? Alone? What happened?"

Eve stepped around him. She didn't care if it was rude. "I don't have time for this right now."

He grabbed her elbow.

Eve whirled, eyes blazing, primed for a fight. She stopped short when she saw Roe shaking out some aspirin and handing her one of his canteens. Properly shocked out of her temper, she meekly took the offering and took the pills with a swig of cool water from the canteen he offered her next.

He shook his head when she tried to hand back his canteen. "Finish it off, and give it back to me later. Drink yours too if you've got any water in it."

Eve watched Gene disappear feeling ashamed. She knew he was just worried about her, but she wasn't ready to talk about it, not even to Gene.

Saying it would make it real.

She didn't have time to linger on her regrets, swept up once more in the preparations to move out. She made sure to drink her full canteen, per Gene’s orders, and tried to duck the concerned looks she knew Roe was giving her.

 _Someone must’ve tipped Roe off_ , Eve realized with an audible groan. She already knew who the culprit must have been: _Liebgott_.

She'd have to watch herself around him too.

This was exhausting. She didn't understand people who got drunk for fun. She found the whole experience miserable from start to finish. She thought drinking was supposed to drown out sorrows, but it hadn’t made much difference, she was still feeling wretchedly.

She felt better after she'd downed a second canteen, well enough to try nibbling on the K-ration Bull passed her.

 _Annoying man_ , she thought, miffed that Roe had been spot on with his cure. _It must be hard, being right all the time._

She thanked Bull for the food and passed him another duffle to toss into the truck they were loading. They were trying to keep the bags with their owners, but with so many people running around, there was no real guarantee. They were within moments of pulling out, so if the bags were in the wrong spot, there was nothing to be done about it now; it would have to be sorted when they got to wherever they were headed.

Eve watched Bull fling a particularly heavy bag into the jeep like it weighed little more than a feather pillow when someone rammed into her. She'd nearly snapped at the man, assuming it was a careless replacement that had bumped into her so forcefully. Bull steadied her before she hit the pavement, but it was a close thing. She bit her tongue when she realized that the culprit was none other than Captain Nixon, brow was furrowed into a frown and his gaze preoccupied as he was completely absorbed in reading a letter.

 _Not good news then_ , thought Eve, moving quickly from upset to worried. The man had been having a rough go of it, from what she remembered, something about his plane going down, and yet he’d still taken the time to watch after her last night; that much she remembered vividly.

She almost went over to see what was wrong when Winters intercepted him, the Major noticing his friend’s preoccupation as well with concern.

She left them to it and turned back to help Bull finish loading the truck, but when she turned around, she found him grinning down at her he sent the last of the bags flying into the back, caught by an unfortunate replacement who fell on his ass, not expecting the weight.

Eve smiled at the large man, who gave her a wink as he stoically ignored the replacement’s plight. It was hard to stay gloomy around Bull, but she soon felt a wash of shame. _Alex is dead_ , she thought with a hitched breath. _What right do I have to be happy with him at the bottom of the ocean?_

She moved to check on the halftracks, or ducks as they'd affectionately named the odd, half-amphibious vehicles – for its aptitude for water and land mobility. They were all painted dark army green and more comfortable than the trucks they’d used before Belgium, but not by much.

Eve had all but forgotten about the whole encounter when Nixon screamed, "It's my dog! She's taking _my_ dog!"

Half the battalion turned at his outburst, just in time to watch Nixon take his helmet off and throw it into the jeep he’d be sharing with Winters in fury.

There was a pause; everyone held their breath and waited to see what Nixon would do next.

"Load up," said Eve, reminding the men around her that they were on a deadline and trying to afford Nixon a little privacy.

It got the Battalion moving, everyone running around like a bunch of ants kicked from their hill as they tried to get everything loaded as quickly as possible.

Eve quietly did her part, staying on the ground until the last bit of equipment was loaded until finally, she realized anything not on the truck was going to have to get left behind, and made her way to the front of the convoy.

Roe pulled her up into the front duck, set to head out right behind the command jeep. She found her footing next to him as the caravan rumbled to life.

"You sure you're all right, Ev?" asked Gene as their truck lurched into motion. "You've been awfully quiet today."

Eve thought about the question, rolling her answer on her tongue to taste how the words would sound once she said them out loud. The part of her that was still screaming that it couldn't possibly be true convinced her that by saying the words she would be acknowledging the letter's contents as facts – irrevocable and impossible to take back once uttered. But Roe deserved to know after she'd shouted at him this morning.

"My brother died," she said, voice sounding hollow to her ears as she stared vacantly at the passing scenery.

"Oh," said Gene, at a loss for words. He was a good friend and didn't push her for more, somehow knowing that she couldn't talk about it, could barely touch the thought in her mind for fear of shutting down completely.

Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze, letting go after a moment.

Eve wanted nothing more than to give into the temptation and burst into tears and allow herself to mourn for her brother the way he deserved to be mourned. But she didn't feel like she could. Not yet.

She didn't know who started it – her money was on Luz – but her moment of melancholy was shattered and then drown out by the "Airborne Gory, Gory," floating up from the other trucks. Roe held her hand as she whispered along with the words bitterly, "What a hell of a way to die," choking back the tears that wanted to drip down her nose.

Talbert, who'd either ignored their conversation completely or was pretending that he had, jostled Eve until she started singing along properly. Her wobbly croon soared into the highest harmony. She tried to sing the song as it was meant: gallows humor that she would have appreciated only yesterday. But now it struck too close to home. She could hear that her voice was full of grief, but no one mentioned it.

"He ain't gonna jump no more!"

-

The Alps were the most glorious thing Webster had ever seen. Imposing edifices of rock towered over lush, forested landscape. The convoy snaked slowly between endless woodlands and fields; the pine scented breeze was crisp and cool. He took a deep breath and savored the sharp sting as his lungs filled with air unspoiled by the stench of industry.

"It's gonna be good times, Web," said Liebgott from next to him. He had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the truck. "When we get home, I mean," Liebgott clarified, not really paying attention as Webster dug his spoon into his mug trying to finish his meal while it was still warm.

Somehow, he'd ended up sitting next to Liebgott, who had been regaling him with his plans upon returning home for the last three hours. Webster had no idea how the subject had even come up in the first place. He'd thought the subject exhausted before they'd even hit Market Garden; but even Webster had to admit that where it once seemed like a distant, vague, hope, now it seemed as though they might live to see the end. It gave the stories and plans more weight than the idle musings in England had borne. But the fact remained that the contents of such musings hadn't changed.

"First thing I'm gonna do, is get my job back with the cab company in ‘Frisco," claimed Liebgott. He was chewing on gum of some kind, lips and teeth smacking between words. "Make a killing off all those fucking sailors coming home, you know?"

Liebgott continued in that vein, despite Webster only paying him minimum attention. He focused on assembling a bite of his K-ration that didn't taste like three day old rat. _Maybe if I put more congealed sauce on the meat, it'll cover up the weird texture?_

He tried it, taking the bit from his spoon gingerly and raising his eyebrows at the startling improvement. He risked a second bigger mouthful, trying to show polite interest in Liebgott's colorful plans for once he made it back to the States.

Fortunately, Liebgott required no more input than a few nods from Webster to keep him going.

"… With great big titties," said Liebgott, using his hands to indicate a bosom size that would've made most women topple over.

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. " _How_ are you friends with Ev?" asked Webster with revolted incredulity.

The truck went silent.

Liebgott looked like he was going to punch him.

Suddenly, Luz started laughing uproariously, smoothing out the building tension. The radioman tossed the baseball he’d acquired somewhere into the air, as their eyes swiveled towards him, catching it deftly; clearly being careful not to lose the precious commodity over the side.

 _I wasn’t trying to insinuate something_ , Webster thought, repentantly.

He went back to his food industriously, ignoring the goings on as he tried to keep his – rather disgusting – rations down.

"Hey, guys!" called Liebgott, catching his attention once more when he snatched the newspaper from Janoveck's hands across the aisle, snapping the paper to show the article that had been facing him. "Ain't that Ev?"

"Let me see that!" cried Luz, swiping the paper from Liebgott’s limp grasp as he took in a picture of a much younger Sergeant Buchanan, out of uniform and beaming at the camera in a party dress surrounded by a group of beautiful people who could only be her family. "It's by that reporter, Flack."

"Holy shit," mumbled Webster, trying to match the high society belle pictured with the gritty First Sergeant. He wondered if his family would see such a marked difference in him when he made it home, or would they only see the tarnish war had left on him.

"Let me see that!" demanded Perconte around his toothbrush.

Luz evaded the other radioman easily and started reading the article aloud, which was what they were all after anyhow.

" _'I spent the dawn of the new year amongst true American Heroes.'_ " Luz paused for the cheering to die down. " _'The Battered Bastards, we call them here.'_ Would you guys shut up? I'm trying ta read here," demanded Luz as he was interrupted a second time by cheering. "Thank you!" he muttered sarcastically as they piped down.

Webster suddenly found he couldn't look up from his meal as the men around him who'd been part of the defense glowed with pride.

He'd known that they'd resented him for missing Bastogne, but he hadn't really understood the bond that had formed between the men. Not even when Liebgott had pointed out that others had made it back to the line, did he understand that the men were coming back half healed to fill the gaps on the line. He couldn't comprehend what that said about the fighting conditions.

Luz went on; ignorant of the discomfort of Webster, Janoveck, and all the others who'd missed Bastogne were openly displaying. He skimmed the article quickly. "Hey, Lieb, he quoted you!"

"What the hell'd he say?"

"Later," demanded Christenson. "What'd he say about Ev?"

It was the burning question on Webster's mind too. He'd read so many articles about Eve back in Toccoa, calling her a floozy and a tart, that he'd almost believed it himself. Apparently, this reporter was different though; at least he'd actually talked to her before making allegations.

"Well?" demanded Liebgott when Luz took more than a minute scanning the page without comment.

"Gimme a minute, Lieb, the damn article is like two pages long."

"Give it here," demanded Webster, figuring he could skim faster than the radioman.

"I got it," snapped Luz. "Here we go."

He cleared his throat. " _’Easy Company is famous for another reason. Evelyn Buchanan, the daughter of prominent senator, Edward Buchanan, has been quite the controversial figure since her enlistment as the first woman in an active combat unit a mere twenty years after women gained the right to vote – some say as a testament to the rising equality between men and women._

_“’Sergeant Buchanan’s society pictures paint her as a delicate woman, fragile and feminine, with light in her eyes and a vivacious smile, easy with company and perfectly capable of being the belle of the ball. Reports from tabloids and proper newspapers alike have capitalized on this image, continuously casting Sergeant Buchanan as an anathema to her sex, the picture of all that is wrong with the youth of today, painting this remarkable woman as a detriment to her unit, a –'"_

Liebgott snarled a rather poetic string of curses. Webster was actually a little impressed; he thought after so long in the army he'd heard it all; apparently, Liebgott had been saving that one for a special occasion.

"For crying out loud, Joe, I'm trying to read here!" cried Luz, unhappy he'd been interrupted yet again.

Liebgott glared but made a point of piping down.

" _’... A dead weight for the men she fights with, likely to be killed instantly or worse that she would get the men around her killed, and, most of all, someone who is willing to do all manner of unsavory things in order to gain a little attention._

_“’That is not the Evelyn Buchanan I met in my short time with Easy Company._

_“’When I met her the first time, it struck me just how well she blended in with the other soldiers. I was honestly shocked that I couldn’t pick her out as female at first glance. She was just as filthy, just as tired, just as battered as the men, but still set apart by a sense of purpose—a determination to prove herself against all odds—a spark that lights her eyes with a fire, a quiet sort of charisma, and willpower that is akin to fine silk over tempered steel. Fragile only in the way that a hand grenade is fragile when directed towards the enemy._

_“’ Buchanan is just one of the guys—in every way that matters. She commands a sense of respect from everyone in her unit, even the replacements, having proved herself over and over, once even saving one of her fellow soldiers from a German ambush._

_“’When asked, Sergeant Buchanan spoke candidly about her experiences, 'I'm just one soldier out on the line, with only God between me and a bullet. I don't know why I'm still here when so many others are gone, but I'll stay on the line as long as I can. I won't be pulled away from my brothers in arms for anything in the world.’_

_“’In light of her successful transition into combat, the fact that more than a thousand women have followed in Buchanan's footsteps, joining the Army with the goal of seeing combat, doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Congress has passed legislature for five female fighting outfits to be formed, and trained for combat.’”_

The atmosphere was heavy in the truck as it struck Webster, and probably every other man in the truck how revolutionary what Eve had done really was.

Liebgott broke the tension. "So what did I say?"

Perconte laughed, "You don't remember what you said to the guy?"

"He was too busy yelling at the man," said Christenson with a sly smile at the flustered man.

"Ahem," said Luz, clearing his throat with a teasing smile at the steaming Liebgott. "' _2nd Grade Technician, Joseph Liebgott, said it best, "Sergeant Buchanan is one of us now… She could be sitting back home in some [exempted] job, and has even more reason to do it because she's a dame – but she's not. She's out here…slogging forward one scrap of dirt at a time. No better or worse than anybody else, and she's never acted like she was.'_ "

The truck was quiet.

"You said that?" said Webster slightly incredulous. It felt like he was seeing the man for the first time.

"What else is in there?" said Perconte, nearly on top of Luz as he tried to get a closer look at the article.

"Jesus, if you wanna know, read it yourself!" cried Luz, passing the paper to Perconte.

"I wanna read it next!" cried Garcia.

"Then me!" said Janovec. "It's my paper!"

"We're gonna pass it around," declared Christenson over the rising cacophony of dibs. He was the ranking sergeant in the truck. "Perco's next, then Janoveck, then O'Keefe, and so on. All right?"

No one argued.

Webster set about finishing his canned meat in sauce while he waited for his turn.

"So what about you, Web?" Liebgott asked out of the blue, trying to break the mood and drag his reluctant audience back to their previous conversation. "What do you want to do after the war?"

Webster gratefully turned his focus onto Liebgott. "I guess I'll finish school first, and then ah, move-"

"Wait a minute," Liebgott interrupted him before he’d even started. "Finish school?"

Webster gave him a blank look.

"You mean all this time, you been talking about Harvard this, and Harvard that, and you ain't even finished?" said Liebgott with a smile in his voice, having dug up a nugget of pure gossip gold.

Webster was suddenly angry. Ever since he'd mentioned Harvard, he'd been pigeonholed as some arrogant schmuck. Never mind that he was in the trenches with everybody else by his own choice. He'd endured the other's teasing frequently enough, but for some reason Liebgott's prodding seemed malicious.

"For one thing, I haven't told you anything," he snapped. Webster was very capable of holding his own in a verbal spat and he was gearing up to unleash his proficiency on the unsuspecting San Franciscan.

"Oh," said Liebgott, the wind abruptly snatched from his sails.

"Yes," admitted Webster with a bite. "I haven't finished, so the fuck what?"

"All right, Web," placated Liebgott, as his entire perception of Webster shifted. He could see it from the way Liebgott was sizing him up.

"Breathe a little, Jesus." Liebgott paused and looked around him, glancing at the passing trees. "Fuck. It's just the way you always talked, you know?" he said with a shrug. "We all figured that," and then he caught sight of Webster's darkened face and decided to let it go. "Hey, you know what, you're right, so the fuck what?"

Liebgott dug into a pocket to pull out his cigarettes. "So what did you study?" he asked Webster.

"Literature," said Webster, resigned to the ribbing he knew was coming.

"Get outta here, you serious?"

Webster nodded with some reluctance.

"I love to read!" said Liebgott.

"Do you?" asked Webster, unable to hide his surprise.

"Yeah!" said Liebgott, and then promptly destroyed any new impression Webster might have been forming by defining literature as, "Dick Tracy and Flash Gordon mostly."

Liebgott lit the cigarette he'd unearthed, nodding to himself as Webster stared at him, appalled.

"Yeah," he said again in confirmation.

Webster rolled his eyes and went back to his food.

Across the way, Luz started teasing Perconte about his constant teeth brushing, and things were back to normal.

Webster caught sight of a white sign marring the idyllic scenery: YOU ARE NOW ENTERING ENEMY TERRITORY KEEP ON THE ALERT!

-

That night they billeted in German houses, forcing the occupants out for the night. Speirs gave the families five minutes to gather their stuff and get out so the men could sleep. Eve tried to be gentle about it – they weren't out to make enemies of the civilians – but she wasn't going to have her men sleeping on the ground when there were perfectly good houses with beds in them. And if that meant that the German civilians had to sleep elsewhere for a night, so be it. It wasn't winter anymore. She figured they'd be all right even if they didn't find a kind neighbor's spare room.

Eve followed Speirs and Liebgott into a room.

A German woman immediately got to her feet and sheltered her son, seated at the table in front of a game of checkers, from the invaders.

Liebgott tried to calm the screaming German woman, but it didn't seem to matter what he said, she wasn't prepared to go anywhere.

"Sir," said Liebgott, drawing Speir's attention while the rest of the men went through the apartment making sure that no one else was there. "She says she's got nowhere to go, but the house next door's got –"

Speirs interrupted. "We're only gonna be here one night!" he screamed to be heard over the still shrieking woman, who'd turned to scream at him as soon as Liebgott had deferred to his leadership.

"You've got four minutes!" Speirs told her and then he turned away, finished with the conversation.

If the lady wasn't packed in four minutes, Eve knew he would turn her out with nothing.

She gripped the woman by the arm and led her away from Speirs's ire. The woman tried to slap her, unwilling to be moved. Eve caught the wrist as the woman caught sight of her face. She tried to plead with Eve then, but there was nothing Eve could do but tug her back to what had to be the lady’s bedroom. She let go of the still protesting woman’s wrist and rummaged around for a bag to pack the lady’s clothes in.

The woman started crying furious tears, but started packing on her own after a few moments and then moved to her son's room. Eve grabbed the jewelry and the photo frame that looked expensive from the chest of drawers. The lady probably didn’t know that whatever she left behind was up for grabs. Eve met the woman at the door to her son's room and quickly tucked the trinkets into the minimal spare room of the bag.

The woman seemed surprised, but babbled a quick " _Danke_ ," as she ran through the house to gather any other valuables she could carry, lest some soldier wander off with them come morning.

Exactly four minutes later, they herded the civilians out and onto the street.

-

The next morning, Second Battalion joined a caravan of Allied vehicles moving deeper into Germany along one of Hitler’s brand new _autobahns_. Along the center of the road, the 300,000 surrendered German soldiers marched – not walked – in the opposite direction.

Eve marveled at all the different uniforms. It was the first time she'd seen so many different variations, even if they were in various states of disrepair. The soldiers seemed pitiful as they moved slowly onward, hindered by a vast number of walking wounded.

It didn't take long to find the anomaly in the parade. A single horse drawn carriage, with several Generals seated in the back, quietly headed towards a prisoner camp in allied territory.

She guessed that part of the German strategy had been to conquer various resource-rich territories, and now that the Allies had taken back those territories, they simply didn't have the resources to build any automobiles or gas to fuel them.

She remembered the outrage that had followed Germany's invasion of Poland. It's what incited England to initially go to war. It was ironic that the German Army was reduced to using the philistine tools they had scorned in the early days of the war as their last resort. She wondered if the Brits would get into a snit because the Allies were bullying the Germans, and it made her smile.

Two trucks away, she heard Webster start screaming abuse at the passing Generals.

"Hey, you!" he screamed. By the way some of the Germans turned to face him, she bet they understood English perfectly.

"Hey, you!" he screamed again, standing up from his place at the back of the truck. No one in the truck stopped him. Not Luz, or Christenson, or even Skinny.

"That's right! You stupid Kraut bastards!" he hollered, "That's right!" Webster pitched his volume for distance but there was still quite a bit of rage in his voice. "Say hello to Ford and General fucking Motors!"

Eve wondered if he realized that Nixon and Winters were in the jeep right behind him. He probably didn’t care.

"You stupid fascist pigs!" he said.

Eve watched the Krauts. If they were thinking anything in particular, entertaining thoughts of striking out at the still screaming man, they had their body language too well trained for her to pick up on it.

"Look at you, you have horses! What were you thinking!" cried Webster before he sat down in disgust. Garcia's hand found his shoulder as he sank.

"That's enough, Webster," said Garcia, his soft voice floating over the roar of hundreds of motors in the suddenly quiet crowd. Webster subsided for a moment, but then Garcia pushed his luck and added, “Give it a rest."

It only set Webster off again. "Dragging our asses half way around the world; interrupting our lives," he said and stood again, screaming "for WHAT? You ignorant servile scum! What the fuck are we doing here? Huh?"

She could hear the desperation in his voice, his longing for home. Eve wasn't the only soldier in Easy to turn judgmental stares on the German officers, wondering what the point had been - why they'd been dragged over to Europe to become involved in affairs they weren't concerned with.

Why her brother had died on the other side of the planet, and she’d missed the last _three years_ of her godfather’s life.

It was disheartening. After training for so long, determined to hate the Germans and everything they stood for and then see them reduced to this sad, pitiable parade made it all seem pointless.

It was as though the friends they'd lost, the days and hours they'd spent fighting and dying to push the Germans back was all for this inevitable end. It made the sacrifice seem large and the gains seem small. That this victory had come about because of machines, not men.

Intellectually, Eve knew well enough that this ending, this apparent victory, had never been inevitable. It had been hard won and every single person who died along the way had not done so in vain.

Despite this, she privately wondered the same thing. _What the fuck am I doing here_?

-

As they drove by the outbuildings, Eve witnessed several Nazi soldiers forcibly removed under guard from a barn. Polish soldiers quickly executed them with a brutal shot to the back of the head. She'd moved to sit with Liebgott today rather than up front with Roe. But after Webster's outburst, she wanted to be close by to quell any future rage he might have with surrendering Krauts.

She met the eyes of the man across from her. He was a new replacement whom Perconte had taken under his wing. Patrick – Paddy – O'Keefe if she remembered right.

O'Keefe, who had probably never seen someone die before, was horrified. He looked around for sympathy, catching Perconte's unconcerned shrug, Luz's avoidance, and Liebgott's satisfied smile.

His eyes landed on Eve, who was watching him rather than the executions. "It's different for them," she tried to explain. "The Germans invaded Poland. They massacred thousands of people," she said. "If you think the Krauts were bad in battle, wait till they occupy your country and start killing off your neighbors who don't agree with them, or for no other reason than it's fun. That is the reality of the SS," she said.

"How do you know that?" asked Webster from farther up in the truck bed.

It was honest curiosity rather than disbelief or incredulity, so Eve answered. "My father is a Senator. He was on the war council for the president.” It still hurt to say his name so she avoided it, avoided mentioning the personal connection or the uncle who’d disappeared in the night in Paris. “You hear things. It's one of the reasons I was able to join the army."

Most of the guys, who'd never heard Eve reveal anything of her life before Toccoa, started paying attention.

"I bet that's why so many surrendered at one time. They don't want to surrender to the Russians or the French or the Polish, not after the mess they made of those countries. I heard over a million people died in Stalingrad," she said. "A million people. I wouldn't want to have that kind of rage against a defeated enemy, would you O'Keefe?"

Paddy shook his head, so Eve closed her eyes and leaned back on Joe's arm stretched across the back of her seat, closing her eyes and trying not to think about the way no one flinched anymore at the death of German POWs.

She wondered if she’d just witnessed the birth of a legend, one very similar to the one haunting Speirs, which would follow the Polish soldier who’d executed those men.

-

A few hours later, they pulled into a quaint village called Landsburg. It wasn't as picturesque as Aldbourne, but it wasn't bad either. The bombings had spared this quaint, German town, so all of the houses were intact.

"Everybody out!" said Eve as soon as the truck rolled to a stop.

She hopped out of her truck and noted where Winters was. He was giving out orders to Captain Speirs, Welsh, Lipton, and Foley, which was fortunate as they were the other men she needed to keep track of. She organized the men getting off their trailers and got them started unpacking the supply trucks. She figured Lipton or someone would come and get her if they needed something.

"First Sergeant Buchanan!" came Lipton's shout, not a moment later.

"Sir?" responded Eve, striding over to him.

"Easy is with Fox searching the woods around town. We'll need to set up patrols."

"You got it, sir," she said.

"We've got the Northwest. Speirs wants First and Second Platoon to swing up through the woods, and Third to go around."

Eve nodded and went to assemble the appropriate squads.

-End Chapter-

-Outtake-

_WARBONDS_

_By Robert J. Flack_

_I spent the dawn of the new year amongst true American Heroes, the 101st Airborne, the Battered Bastards, we call them here, specifically Easy Company of the 506, as they were stationed somewhere on the front in Belgium. Easy Company has become famous thrice over for its heroics in Normandy, Market Garden, and their latest defense of Bastogne. They are a highly decorated group, dependable in action, good at what they do, and it didn't take me long to realize I was in the presence of people who are surely becoming legends, even in our own time._

_Easy Company is famous for another reason. Evelyn Buchanan, the daughter of prominent senator, Edward Buchanan, has been quite the controversial figure since her enlistment as the first woman in an active combat unit a mere twenty years after women gained the right to vote – some say as a testament to the rising equality between men and women._

_Sergeant Buchanan’s society pictures paint her as a delicate woman, fragile and feminine, with light in her eyes and a vivacious smile, easy with company and perfectly capable of being the belle of the ball. Reports from tabloids and proper newspapers alike have capitalized on this image, continuously casting Sergeant Buchanan as an anathema to her sex, the picture of all that is wrong with the youth of today, painting this remarkable woman as a detriment to her unit, a dead weight for the men she fights with, likely to be killed instantly or worse that she would get the men around her killed, and, most of all, someone who is willing to do all manner of unsavory things in order to gain a little attention._

_That is not the Evelyn Buchanan I met in my short time with Easy Company._

_After meeting with the woman personally, the first reporter to be granted such unprecedented access, it is my duty to tell the world that this perspective is wrong, utterly unfounded, and outright libelous._

_Sergeant Buchanan has excelled at every juncture where she was expected to fail._

_Don’t take my word for it. According to Colonel Sink, Buchanan was initially placed under probation to determine whether or not she was even physically capable of keeping up with the men. Not only did she pass, but she passed in a unit with a ninety-percent dropout rate. She was also one of only four candidates from the entire company who was awarded a pay raise for excellent marksmanship. She proved without a doubt that she was as physically capable as the men in one of the toughest training regimes this country has ever seen, and she continued to excel during the two years of hard physical training that followed._

_She has continued to meet or exceed those expectations. Even before entering combat, Buchanan was selected from among her peers for her leadership qualities. Since entering active combat, Buchanan has advanced through the ranks, entirely on her own merits, to Staff Sergeant: responsible for coordinating three to twelve man squads, proven herself to be a more than capable leader in the field and someone her men trust implicitly._

_When I met her the first time, it struck me just how well she blended in with the other soldiers. I was honestly shocked that I couldn’t pick her out as female at first glance. She was just as filthy, just as tired, just as battered as the men, but still set apart by a sense of purpose—a determination to prove herself against all odds—a spark that lights her eyes with a fire, a quiet sort of charisma, and willpower that is akin to fine silk over tempered steel. Fragile only in the way that a hand grenade is fragile when directed towards the enemy._

_Buchanan is just one of the guys—in every way that matters. She commands a sense of respect from everyone in her unit, even the replacements, having proved herself over and over, once even saving one of her fellow soldiers from a German ambush._

_There can be no surprise that when the news reached this young woman that she had the opportunity to leave her men, to duck her head out of the war she’d fought so hard to be a part of, that she turned it down flat. The idea of taking a pass home, when she was still ready and willing to fight, was visibly contemptible to her._

_When asked, Sergeant Buchanan spoke candidly about her experiences, 'I'm just one soldier out on the line, with only God between me and a bullet. I don't know why I'm still here when so many others are gone, but I'll stay on the line as long as I can. I won't be pulled away from my brothers in arms for anything in the world.’_

_This comes as quite a shock to her unit, who had no idea she refused a pass home that would have taken her away from this band of brothers. 2nd Grade Technician, Joseph Liebgott, said it best, ‘Sergeant Buchanan is one of us now… She could be sitting back home in some [exempted] job, and has even more reason to do it because she's a dame – but she's not. She's out here…slogging forward one scrap of dirt at a time. No better or worse than anybody else, and she's never acted like she was.'_

_In light of her successful transition into combat, the fact that more than a thousand women have followed in Buchanan's footsteps, joining the Army with the goal of seeing combat, doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Congress has passed legislature for five female fighting outfits to be formed, and trained for combat._

_Only time will tell whether or not female soldiers are here to stay. All I can say is with Sergeant Evelyn Buchanan leading the charge, knowingly or not, she has inspired thousands of men and women to take up arms for their country, providing manpower that is sorely needed because ‘these are the times that try men’s souls.’_

-End Outtake-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope the article was worth the wait. Feedback is always appreciated. Updates are on Thursdays.


	50. Undesirables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Eve deals with her grief as Easy Company moves deeper into Germany.
> 
> "For the dead and the living, we must bear witness." ― Elie Wiesel
> 
> "Fiction cannot recite the numbing numbers, but it can be that witness, that memory. A storyteller can attempt to tell the human tale, can make a galaxy out of the chaos, can point to the fact that some people survived even as most people died. And can remind us that the swallows still sing around the smokestacks." ― Jane Yolen
> 
> Now: Easy Company uncovers horrors in the depths of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta's: Laura001 and Atman helped tidy this one up for me. All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Warning: This is a rough one.

-Chapter 50-

Eve was taking the opportunity to relax. She hadn't been able to in a while, and the atmosphere in the town square they were parked in was strangely unburdened by the stress or hardship of war. It was almost as good as leave in Paris.

She watched the men from First Platoon relaxing in the square. It had been a long while since she’d had the chance to catch up with the guys she’d taken Normandy with.

She shifted her attention from Alton More – the man who’d boldly sassed Speirs all those months ago, when rumors of the man’s ruthlessness were at their worst – who was having absolutely no luck with the German women he was trying to chat up, and started watching Talbert toss Luz's baseball around the street from her laid back position on a jeep. Around her, Liebgott, Babe, Skinny, and Martin were joking and laughing, but she ignored the particulars of their conversation, just enjoying the easy cadence.

Now that most of the squads had checked back in, the consensus was that they were just waiting for orders to move on to the next Kraut town, since whatever resistance – if it had ever been here – had obviously moved on.

"Hey!" called Perconte as he ran into the square. He was alone, no sign of his squad, and had his helmet off. Eve sat up, giving the man her full attention. "Any of you guys seen Foley?" he asked as he ran through the town.

"Hey, guys," he said, skidding to a halt outside their group. "You guys seen any of the officers? Foley? Nixon?"

"Major Winters is in that building over there," said Eve pointing the way. Perconte darted off without so much as an acknowledgment, so intent on his mission. Eve, guessing whatever had him so rattled was going to be big, got up to follow him.

She didn't get the chance. Perconte nearly collided with Winters as the Major came out of the building.

"Major Winters!" he cried, trying to speak and keep up with Winters, who was striding along in the opposite direction. "Sir," said Perconte, trying to gain Winters's attention. "Uh, we found something. We, on a patrol, and uh, we came across this…"

Eve was shocked that Perconte, of all people, was at a loss for words. If a replacement had been babbling like this, she probably wouldn't have been concerned, but this was Perconte, a Toccoa man, a veteran. It took a lot to shake him.

"What, what, what?" demanded Winters. "Frank, what is it?" he said, stopping to give Perconte his full attention.

Perconte looked up into Winters's eyes as one human being looks frankly at another and answered, "I don't know, sir." He panted for breath as he searched for the appropriate words and came up wanting. "I don't know."

-

Within five minutes of the order to load up, Easy Company was bouncing down the road once more.

Perconte led the way from Winters's jeep, leaning forward in between the Major and Nixon with Speirs in the back, solemnly navigating the convoy towards the scouting party's discovery.

Eve was in the back of the first truck, dreading whatever it was that had rattled Frank so much he wasn't even able to describe it. The truck was silent as the ominous premonition smothered any lingering attempts at merrymaking. A foul stench lingered on the air, one she was intimately familiar with, but couldn't place. It made her think of screams and dying men.

The knot in her stomach only grew as they trundled along. It was no comfort that with each mile they traveled, the trees became more wretched. The once full branches gradually became barren; the trees themselves became scarcer too, until they finally disappeared altogether; as though wherever they were heading was so terrible nature itself had recoiled in horror.

As the truck went around a bend in the road, Eve saw the barbed wire fence, two men high, anchored by small, house-like guard towers, facing oddly in to the enclosed compound instead of in a position to scan the area for intruders. A cloud concealed whatever was behind the double fence, but the mud that spread that last quarter of a mile continued inwards. Nothing grew, nothing was green. A dirty brownish gray color washed over everything, even the men, and there were men, prisoners, grasping onto the fence and gaping at the foreign soldiers.

It wasn't until they’d stopped adjacent to the complex that she was able to fully see the men on the other side – and they were surely men, but only by the barest notion. There were maybe thirty of them at the fence to greet them. They watched, but they did not move; some looked like the fence was the only thing holding them up.

Eve got out of the truck and wandered forward in a daze, unable to stop her feet from approaching the unspeakable sight before her.

She was wrong. These were not men, not anymore. They were shadows – the skeletons left behind as the souls were broken. They had no age, no faces; they all looked alike and like nothing she'd ever seen before. No expression showed on faces that were only yellowish, stubbly skin stretched thin across sharply protruding bone. Each man was dressed in horizontal stripes of dark grey and what must have once been white, a yellow star on the breasts of most. The clothes might have fit them once upon a time, but that time was long, long ago. The clothes hung like burlap sacks on the emaciated men, one size fits all in the way that some pants legs dragged on the ground, and some barely reached the ankles of others. Some held up threadbare, ragged blankets in the place of missing clothing. Some wore caps, others were shaved bald.

Eve gagged, knowing that this horror was just a precursor to what was awaiting beyond the gates. She could do nothing but go forward and bear witness to this perversion of humanity. The gritty taste of smoke choked her further and stung her already welling eyes.

She was one among many as she trailed after a silent Major Winters. The redhead was stoically leading the way forward, through another horror of war as he had all too often – and they followed along solemnly as they had always done, boots squelching through the mud.

The men at the fence were silent, waiting patiently for their rescuers to decide their fate. They shied away, beaten and broken men reminding her of dogs that still came to the door to greet a master who kicked them. Their avoidance of eye contact and defeated posture seemed to scream their shattered spirits for all to see. And yet they did not leave the fence. Eve took solace in that, for surely they still had some will to live, some hope because while they watched warily, they did not move away.

Gene touched her elbow, trapped in his own terrible awe and needing another person to bear witness as well to make it real. It was like a terrible dream. She felt like she was floating, like someone else was in her body, so horrific was the sight she took in. Her mind flinched away from comprehending it.

Someone gagged behind her. The stench from the enclosure was indescribable. The smell of human waste and decay and death was one she was sure would haunt her forever. She could smell the remains of fire and the putrid stench of burnt flesh and hair. Some men held clothes to their nose, Eve didn't bother. Nothing could stop that smell.

Nixon found them and tugged Gene aside. Quietly, he gave the man some instructions, keeping it for the head medic's ears alone. Despite Gene not having a nice shiny red cross on his helmet (neglected by some poor sap in supply distribution back in Mourmelon), he was the lead Medic for Easy and everybody knew it. He needn't have bothered. Eve couldn't make out the words. The whole conversation sounded like it was underwater to her.

"Open it up," ordered Winters as he stood before the second gate, wrapped with a heavy chain and lock.

Perconte used bolt cutters scrounged from who knows where. The giant tool snapped through the chain like it was hot butter. Perconte flung the scraps away as though it was responsible for caging and abusing the men behind the gate.

A few men from the patrol – who had endured being useless the longest – pushed the gates open, gently herding gathered prisoners out of the way of the swinging doors.

Eve wadded into the camp in the wake of Winters, immersed in the tide of stunned soldiers flowing into the camp.

The further they walked into the complex, the bigger it seemed. The living were only one grim portion of the complex. Everywhere there were waxy corpses, men whose bodies had just given up on them. They’d just left some in the sun to rot, heaping many together in haphazard piles of dead, rotting carcasses. Most had been stripped, their boney hips and twig thin legs on display.

Eve had seen the dead lying like discarded bundles on roads over half the earth, but she couldn’t think of a single instance that was anything like this. Nothing about war was ever as depraved as these starved and nameless corpses. There were piles of them, each naked carcass tossed carelessly over a dozen more. It didn't take her long to discover the ragged clothing of the dead in neat stack. It was appalling and nauseating. They'd handled the clothing with order and care, while the bodies were dumped like garbage rotting in the sun.

Lipton gave orders to distribute supplies and water to the emaciated men. Eve handed over her canteen. The fragile fingers that grasped it were hesitant at first and then frantic as the man gulped down the water. He did not offer to share it with anyone else. Eve left him with the canteen and – steeling herself – went onward into the camp.

A breeze lifted the hair on the back of her neck and cleared the fog from the ground.

"Oh my God," cried Nixon. "Dick?"

Two rows of small huts stretched down both sides of a main road. They were dug down into the ground. The roofline was level to the ground, the eaves touching the earth on either side, covered with what was likely grass at one point in time. Each hut had a chimney. A long ditch ran in front of the houses, with planks running across to serve as bridges. In these trenches were the bodies of men sprawled out in the ditch like discarded dolls. More men poured out of huts in the ground, some one at a time, others in droves. They seemed endless as they emerged. A man fell on the ground walking over to them, unable to right himself, and not one of the others stopped to help him up. Another man carried a skeleton towards them, holding desperately on to what might have been his father at one time, or even his friend.

Some of the guys were helping prisoners sit up, sit down, and take in some water and food. They passed out what blankets and food they had, the medics already frantically administering whatever medicine they had on hand.

The flood of prisoners just didn't stop. Each man seemed more fragile than the last.

What was once a man gripped her ODs with boney hands, too weak or unwilling to take a firm grasp, and childlike in his fear. She looked at him, trying to meet his eyes, but he was only bold enough to look back for a few seconds.

He leaned his weight on her, unable to support himself on the bones he had to use as legs. He had been a man about six feet tall, but he couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. He wore a striped prison shirt, a pair of boots without laces, and a blanket, which he tried to hold around his legs. His eyes were large and strange and stood out from his face, and his jawbone seemed to be cutting through his skin. He was only distinguishable from the sprawled dead because he was upright.

He spoke a few words to her; his voice quiet and fervent, and distinctly accented English. "Everyone is dead," he said, his face that was not a face twisted with pain or sorrow or horror. "No one is left. Everyone is dead. I cannot help myself," he said, pitiful in his agony. "Here I am and I am finished and I cannot help myself. Everyone is dead."

He collapsed into her, suddenly weeping, the bones that were his legs no longer supporting him. She held him, rubbing a hand up his spine, and trying not to notice the feel of his lank, greasy hair, or the smell of unwashed tightly packed bodies that hung to his skin. Equally, she tried not to count the vertebra that she could feel as her hand ran up and down his back.

She tried to mumble reassurances to him, but could only manage to say, "It's okay," which was blatantly untrue. Right now, Eve wasn't sure it would ever be okay again. She tried not to let him see her own tears flooding down her face. She had no reason to cry after all; not like him.

It only took him a few moments to compose himself. He placed a kiss to either of her dirty cheeks, barely more pressure to it than the whisper of his stubble on her skin and released her in favor of clinging to Grant, who caught him in what ended up being a hug.

Eve's mouth twisted in pity as she tried to swallow her tears. _How on earth could any human being do this to another?_ she thought. She could see in the prisoners' demeanor that they felt strangely ashamed; as thought their deplorable condition was some fault of theirs and not squarely a sin of their long gone guards. Strangely, Eve felt ashamed as well, horrified by the ability of mankind to be so blindly cruel to others, no matter the reasoning. She felt helpless; she could do nothing but offer meaningless platitudes.

Captain Speirs found her. He pretended not to notice her tears as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You all right?" he asked.

Eve nodded. She took a deep breath and fortified herself for the next encounter. She needed to focus. Now was not the time to check out mentally.

"All right, come on," said Speirs, "We should go see what Winters is up to."

Eve willingly followed the Captain over to the pseudo interrogation. Liebgott was questioning one of the more coherent prisoners and relaying the answers to a small group consisting of Winters, Nixon, and Christenson.

They joined as another prisoner found enough courage to paw at Christenson for his canteen. The man gave it over willingly and nodded a small hello to them before narrowing his focus to what Liebgott was saying. Eve idly wondered where her own canteen had wandered off to, but promptly dismissed it as trivial and followed Christenson's example.

"He said the guards left this morning, sir," Liebgott was saying. He exchanged a few words in German and took a negligible moment to steel himself against what the man was telling him.

 _A German_ , Eve realized with horror manifesting as nausea. These were Germans. _They've been locked up by their own countrymen!_

The prisoner scrubbed his head with a hand as he answered. Liebgott relayed, "They burned some of the huts first, with the prisoners still in them, sir. Alive."

"Jesus Christ," said Nixon, voice wavering.

 _The fog isn't fog at all_ , she realized with revulsion; the smoke, the smell, had gotten lost and intermingled with the stench of decay. Eve couldn't wrap her brain around the words properly. The message was so wretched it didn't sound like English anymore.

"Some of the prisoners tried to stop them," said Liebgott, eyes intent on the prisoner.

She couldn't even imagine what was running through his head. She and the other officers had Liebgott to act as a filter, a buffer between them and the atrocities he was relaying. He had no emotional stopgap between the pain he was hearing and the agony of relaying it to an audience.

"Some of them were killed," continued Liebgott. "They didn't have enough ammo for all the prisoners so they killed all they could before they left the camp," he said, pausing to keep up with the rapid tearful German. "They locked the gate behind them and headed south."

Eve felt numb.

"Someone in town must have told them we were coming," said Nixon, looking at Winters accusingly.

"Yeah, I think so," agreed Liebgott, before returning his focus to the prisoner, a man nearly in tears as he was forced to ponder his own circumstances. Eve's thoughts drifted bitterly to the checkpoint she'd been at just days ago. Sure, they'd changed towns, but with such loose procedures she wasn't surprised something had slipped through the MPs half-assed security sweep.

"Would you ask him, ah," said Winters, voice pained and quiet as he searched for words. "Ask him what kind of camp this is? Um, what, ah, why are they here?"

Liebgott asked. The man scrubbed the back of his neck again, as though baffled that they hadn't already guessed, that they were ignorant.

"He says it's a work camp for, ah," Liebgott supplemented his vocabulary with a German word, spoken too quickly for Eve to try and decipher. "I'm not sure what the word means, sir. Uh," he searched for the correct correlation in English, "Unwanted? Disliked maybe?"

 _Undesirable_ , thought Eve, but she couldn't find her voice to speak the thought aloud.

"Criminals?" suggested Nixon.

Perhaps a part of him even hoped it was true. It might explain the terrible conditions they'd forced these men to endure.

It wasn't like there was a shortage. The village they’d just left had been well stocked. The people there didn’t seem to have borne any real hardship during the war. There had been no leveled buildings, and happy, healthy children scampering through the streets. Ladies dressed in modern fashions willing to fraternize openly with the invaders. Cows, chickens, and eggs were easy pickings for a scavenging soldier, and there was plenty of food to purchase in the town if you had the coin and were feeling honest.

So why had these men been so deprived? What was the logic behind a camp population on the brink of starvation separated from a prospering town by only a few hundred yards of trees?

"I don't think criminals," said Liebgott. He posed the question to the prisoner, who was now looking at Eve, drinking in the sight of her until Liebgott's question pulled him back. The man’s tone was incredulous and emphatic.

"No," the prisoner said through Liebgott. "Doctors, musicians, tailors, clerks, farmers, intellectuals, I mean, normal people."

 _They aren’t even soldiers,_ Eve realized with the others. _They’re ordinary people, who hadn't even broken the law before they were caged up like animals._ The part of her mind that was screaming turned to white noise.

" _Juden_ ," said the man. Liebgott looked like he'd just been slapped. The man kept repeating the word, worried Liebgott didn't understand.

Eve could see on his face that he understood all too well.

"They're Jews," he admitted softly, as though the words themselves were poison as they dropped from his lips into being – as though he could keep them from being true if he just didn't say them, as though he could change their meaning and what had happened. "Poles and Gypsies."

The prisoner, back to staring at Eve brokenheartedly, rattled off a sentence and pointed into the distance. Liebgott missed it in trying to cope with the horror of his last translation. He asked for a clarification. The man repeated himself and began to wail in despair.

"The women's camp is at the next railroad stop," said Liebgott at Winters's gentle prompting, sounding shell-shocked.

Eve held a hand up to her mouth to hide that it was trembling.

"Major Winters?" called Perconte, waving them over. Eve followed after the officers blankly.

She felt disengaged from her body. A ghost amidst a sea of ghosts and broken souls.

The rest of the men had split up into pairs as they had been trained and had set about investigating the camp, searching for any hiding guards, and bearing witness to the atrocity.

Off to the side, Eve saw Bull and Luz walk into one of the huts. They came out seconds later gagging.

Frank led them to a train, still waiting on the tracks for a conductor to move it forward. Winters ordered the train car opened. As the doors slid back with a sound that would haunt Eve's nightmares for the rest of her life, it revealed a stack of bodies, at least five high, crammed together. A hand flopped forward without the door to hold it up any more. Empty faces of the dead stared vacantly out at the gathered soldiers. Eve turned away to meet Perconte's also averted eyes.

She didn't even realize she was trembling anymore.

It was too much to bear.

In a vain effort to ignore this horror, she went to go find another to focus on. She figured Roe would be a good place to start. If there was anyone who could put her to use, it was Gene.

Speirs found her before she got too far. "Buchanan, I need you to put together rotations to go back to town and bring back food, water, and whatever else we need, check with the medics." Eve nodded her understanding, so Speirs continued. "Whoever we can spare, alright?"

She nodded and hurried to go make arrangements, glad to be of use. She specifically told Webster about the bakery she remembered being full and the room under the CP that was full of blocks of cheese.

"You got it, Sarge," assured Webster as he hopped back on the trucks.

She opted not to go back with them and instead set to trying to organize the mob of prisoners.

She started by sorting out those who had already managed to get some water and those who were still waiting. She had the men supporting prisoners with leg injuries or bedsores move where Gene pointed, and the ones who were breathing funny to another area. Those who fell into multiple categories Gene looked after himself.

Eve made a mental note to get him some more qualified hands even as she threw herself into trying to help.

Then the trucks came back and it all descended into chaos. If the medics didn't have their hands on a former prisoner, he abandoned the group he'd been sorted into to swarm the trucks for the handfuls of food already being passed out to the grabbing mass.

Eve tried to regain control, but it was impossible to hold back the tide. The prisoners surged forward, nearly knocking her over in their frantic need for the food being distributed as fast as the guys could manage.

"Sergeant Buchanan, this is chaos," complained Welsh, also being crushed under the hunger driven mob trying desperately to reach food, determined to be fed before the supply ran dry. "There's plenty to go around," he cried, trying to appease the frantic masses. "Please!"

Eve was too busy being thrown around in the mass of bodies to be of any help. She was too scared she’d hurt someone if she tried to stand her ground. She lost her footing several times before Welsh managed to get to her. He grabbed her and towed her out of the swarm of bodies with his typical stubbornness and determination.

"I got this, Ev," he said. "Why don't you get back to helping the medics?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, ashamed that she felt so grateful to get free of the crushing desperation, ashamed she hadn’t been of more use.

"We've got more water on the way!" Nixon shouted at Speirs as he, Winters, and Liebgott made their way through the crowd, which easily parted for them, the prisoners instinctively recognizing the leaders and getting out of their way.

Eve deviated from her goal of the medics and pulled Liebgott aside to try and gauge how he was doing. The way he met her eyes to reassure her that he okay, reassured her that he wasn’t, really, but perhaps he was as okay as any of them were doing.

Eve gave the man a nod – not bothering to waste breath saying something she didn’t mean – and went to make sure the supplies Roe had asked for had made it, and whether or not he needed something specific from the next rotation back to town.

She didn't get there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Colonel Sink, newly arrived in his jeep, pull Winters and Nixon into a conversation. Something in the way they were standing, and the resigned slump of Winters's shoulders. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Liebgott, who'd moved to keep watch over the forest in case there were any disgruntled Nazis still watching the camp stupid enough to show themselves, headed back for her side within seconds, likely noticing her own wary posture.

"Ev?" he questioned.

"I don't like this," she said watching Winters turn away. The major's step faltered when he caught sight of them, but his spine straightened and he headed right for them collecting Speirs in his wake; Nixon dogging his shadow as he had so often when delivering bad news.

"Liebgott?" came Winter's voice.

"Sir?" acknowledged Liebgott with trepidation. His instincts were probably going just as crazy as Eve's were by now.

"Orders have changed. We need to get these men back into the camp, and stop feeding them, immediately."

"I can't tell them that, sir," he pleaded.

"You've got to, Joe," pressed Winters.

Liebgott stared at them mutinously and then looked down as he saw the determination on Winters's face. He still looked at Nixon for confirmation, hoping the Captain would talk Winters out of it like he had so many of their asinine orders before – and received the tiniest of nods instead.

The weight of the decision was crushing. There was no getting out of it if Nixon and Winters were united.

Liebgott closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation. "Yes, sir."

"Buchanan, Christenson," said Winters, arms crossed in a way that exhibited every bit of his distaste at the orders he'd just passed along. "These men have to be put back in the camp immediately. Let the men know."

With little more than a nod, and feeling equally queasy, the two sergeants split up to spread the word.

This was not going to be pretty.

Eve hurried to notify as many soldiers as she could before Liebgott started. She closely monitored his progress as he mounted the truck he would use as a platform, informing as many soldiers as she could, who told everyone they found until the order had spread through the company like a disease.

She got used to the pattern of emotions each soldier cycled through as she prodded them into obedience. Shocked horror faded to grim resignation, but no one complained as they set about the grim business of herding the prisoners back into their pen like compliant cattle – not the pitiful scraps of humanity they were.

Liebgott stood on the bed of one of the trucks, calling for attention. She didn’t understand the words, but the quiet agony in each inflection of his voice was plain.

Eve knew the moment he got to the part about returning to the camp. The mood of the crowd shifted; a cacophony of agony filled moans of despair and denial filled the air. Many shook their heads in denial. Some started crying as Eve and the other soldiers started to gently herd them back towards the gate.

She could see, when she glanced up at the still speaking Liebgott, just how hard it was for the man forced to relay the news. His face was pinched as though he was experiencing physical pain for having to tell these prisoners, who were so grateful and desperate now that they were finally free, that they were locking them up again, for their own protection.

Such was the prisoners' mindset; they didn't put up any fight as they were herded like cattle back into their pen. They went willingly, rushing to do what they were told with more zeal than they had emerging from the camp, as though they’d expected this all along. As though it had always been too good to be true and here was the other shoe they'd been waiting to drop. Now that those fears had been confirmed, they wanted no further punishment by resisting.

Eve hated herself. She plastered on her blandest face, even as her lips twisted with grim empathy. She was not the only one trying to remain stoic as they set about the grim business. No one wanted to do it, not a single one of them, but she was proud of the men for doing what had to be done.

She saw Liebgott sit down heavily on the bench of the truck and begin to cry. She wanted to stop this, to pause long enough to go give him the hug he surely needed, but she held herself back. There was no way she would ever make it through the crowd, not when they were already so agitated. Plus, Malarkey seemed to have it in hand, already moving to comfort their friend.

A hand grabbed her bicep with force. Eve was spun to meet the raging eyes of her Cajun friend.

She glanced at the hand shackling her and raised an eyebrow. His grip immediately loosened, but he didn't let her go.

She let him see her misery. "I'm sorry, Gene. Orders."

"We can't just –"

"We have to," she cut him off. "See that Major over there?" she nodded towards the jeep. "It's his plan."

"Can you –"

"I'll see if they need anyone to stay and make sure he knows your name."

He nodded and didn't waste any more time before heading back into camp and his numerous waiting patients.

Eve found Speirs conferring with Winters and Nixon. As she waited for a lull in their conversation, she learned they were planning to keep a guard stationed on the camp tonight until their reinforcements from the 10th Armored came in.

"What is it, Ev?" said Speirs, completely interrupting Nixon as he noticed her loitering on the edge of their conversation.

"Sir, some of the medics, Doc Roe in particular, are hoping they can stay and continue treating the prisoners."

The men exchanged a series of glances that translated into an entire conversation under her gaze. It was a risk to leave behind all of the company medics.

"Have Doc Roe work up a rotation of the Battalion Medics, volunteers only," Winters said after some thought. "Make sure the men know about the option to stay and assist the medics."

"You got it, sir," she said, thinking through the list of people she needed to talk to in order to get the word out.

"I'll inform Sink," said Nixon, immediately heading that way.

"And Ev?" said Winters. "Make sure everyone is back before nightfall."

She nodded and went back into the camp. On the way, she found Christenson and Talbert. They were eager to spread the word around and more than willing to figure out a feasible rotation schedule, so she left them to it and went to find Gene.

He was already back to work, listening intently at a patient's chest and checking his legs for sores. He caught her shadow looming over him and glanced up.

"We can stay until nightfall," she informed him. "What can I do to help?"

"Find me someone who can speak German?"

Eve nodded, and ran to find Webster. People stopped and stared at her flurry of motion, such a sharp contrast to the laboriously slow pace of the prisoners and the softly walking soldiers. She found Webster still by Winters.

"Sir, can I borrow Webster? Roe needs someone to translate for him."

Winters nodded his permission. Eve and Web trotted back to the busy medic.

Roe paused his examination of an elderly man; the patient had had to be carried over by his son, and could barely sit up on his own, let alone stand. He made a few hand gestures at the son before the man understood that he needed to support his father. Once that was taken care of, he turned his attention back to his reinforcements.

"We're separating them out, like you started," he said. "Three groups: lung infections, possible lung infections, and no lung infections. We need to keep the healthy ones from getting sick. Their bodies don't have any way to cope with the strain of illness. Watch someone for a while, and then do your best, if you have any questions, ask. We're trying to make them as comfortable as possible."

Eve didn't waste any more of his time and quickly found something to do. Once she got to work, it didn't take her long to find a rhythm, acting the nurse she'd never wanted to be.

She didn't notice the trucks pulling out, or darkness falling, she just kept her head down and did what she was told. It wasn't like the work was physically taxing, but it was never ending.

Eventually, Gene pushed her into an out of the way corner for some sleep.

She yanked him down with her and refused to let him up until after they'd achieved a few scant hours of sleep.

-

That evening, Nixon entered Dick's room with little more than a perfunctory knock on the open door. He barely waited for the redhead to look up from whatever he was studying on the writing desk before he made a beeline towards the overtly displayed liquor.

"Turns out I'm staying in the only dry freaking house in Germany," he grumbled as he examined the bottles, knowing that Winters would have no objections to him pilfering a bottle or two. It wasn't like the man was going to drink it himself.

"Thought you weren't drinking the local?" observed Dick.

Nixon snorted. "Yeah, well…"

Honestly, if he'd had any other choice, he certainly wouldn't be drinking this swill. He couldn't stand the German whiskey, or whatever the hell it was in these bottles. He pulled out the clear one, hoping it was some kind of vodka instead. He was that desperate.

He was about to abscond back to his room to drink this whole day away when Dick spoke up. "Heard from Division. Been finding camps like this all over the place," said Winters, instinctively knowing that he'd stopped Nixon in his tracks. The man didn't even have the decency to look surprised when he turned around to look Nixon square in the eyes.

"Jesus," said Nixon, responding the only way he knew how. Screw waiting until he got back to his room. Nixon twisted off the cap and took a swig directly from the bottle, hoping Dick would unsay what he'd just relayed and he could go back to pretending that this was an isolated incident caused by a few extremists.

"Seems the Russians liberated one a lot worse," continued Winters.

"Worse?" He honestly couldn't believe that there was any way possible that someone could dream up something worse than what they'd seen today.

"Yeah. Apparently." confirmed Dick with a heavy sigh. "Ten times as big. Execution chambers. Ovens."

Nixon's brow furrowed in confusion. _What the hell did they need ovens for?_

As his mind searched for an answer, it found one. He felt bile, completely unrelated to the alcohol he was imbibing as fast as he could, rise up in his throat, remembering the houses that had been burned down with people still trapped inside them. It was all too easy to imagine the people responsible for that atrocity to come up with ovens as a more expedient way of dealing with the unwanted prisoners.

Winters must have read his face because he clarified, "For cremating all the bodies."

He looked away and let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Jesus," he breathed again. "Locals claim that," he said, struggling to find his voice, "they never even knew the camp existed. They say we're exaggerating." He let his disdain enter his tone.

Winters snorted and shook his head in exasperation. "Well," he said with grim humor. "They're gonna have a hell of an education tomorrow." He met Nixon's eyes. "General Taylor declared martial law about an hour ago. Ordered every able-bodied German in town aged 14 to 80 to start burying the bodies. That'll begin in the morning. 10th Armored are gonna stay and supervise cleanup."

"What about us?" questioned Nixon. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to stay and help, or get as far away from this place as fast as possible.

"We head out for Th _a_ lem, Thal _em_ tomorrow, 1200 hours."

Nixon shook his head. "All the volunteers have reported back except for two. Guess who?"

Winters looked at him with concern. "Ev and Roe?"

He took a long pull off the bottle he still clung too. "Got it in one."

"For crying out loud," said Winters, running a hand through his head. Nixon knew his friend well enough to know that the man was turning the problem over in his mind. "Well, if they don't make it back by morning –"

"I'll go get them myself, if they're not back by then," said Nixon. Winters looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"It just doesn't seem like you, Lew," said Winters, “getting up at the crack of dawn when you don’t have to.”

"I'm worried about them, that’s all. You saw the look on her face when she asked to stay."

"I did,” said Winters.

“Then why did you let them stay?"

"Why did you?" Winters rebutted, before crossing his arms and conceding. “I learned early on not to issue orders I'm not sure will be followed.”

He nodded and took a commiserating swig of alcohol, grimacing at the taste.

-

The next morning Speirs barged into Winters's room with barely a knock, a wild look in his eye.

"Captain Speirs?" asked Winters, as he looked up from his breakfast. Nix was chasing his hangover with another bottle of alcohol next to him. "What can we do for you?"

"Sergeant Buchanan and Doc Roe never made it back last night."

Winters gave Nixon a loaded look as the man slung back the last of his drink and stood. "Don't forget we're pulling out at noon," said Winters.

Speirs knew he was heading out to the camp to fetch the wayward soldiers.

"I'll come with you," insisted Speirs.

"Lead the way,” said Nixon.

Speirs nodded and followed Captain Nixon out, feeling dread lining his stomach.

"I'll drive," asserted Speirs as they reached the jeep, the demand just barely tinted with the respect Nixon's higher rank deserved.

"Suit yourself," said Nixon as he lit a cigarette and slid amicably into the passenger seat.

Speirs sped down the road towards the grotesque camp, tension making his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Neither he nor Nixon were in any mood to mindlessly chat. In fact, Nixon seemed content to enjoy his cigarette and brood.

He never should’ve let them stay. He remembered all too well the search when she'd gone missing during Market Garden. He could only imagine the chaos that would erupt if they tried to pull out of Landsburg without either Eve or Roe.

_What was the Doc thinking letting Ev stay out there overnight?_

-

As they pulled up to the gates and got out, Nixon realized that the civilians had beat them there.

The contrast between the German civilians next to the dead and dying prisoners was horrifying. It was one thing to conceptually compare the two, acknowledge the disparity between them, and quite another to see such difference in circumstance up close.

Speirs took off immediately, determined to find his missing people.

But something pulled Nixon to take a walk around the camp.

If someone had asked what he was looking for, he couldn't have said, perhaps it was a desire to witness the Germans’s realization of the atrocities that had gone on right under their noses, but he froze when he saw her.

The old woman wore the same bright red lipstick. Her hair glinted silver grey in the morning sunlight in the same style he remembered from the day he’d broken into her home. But her once proud, fierce, blue eyes looked down in shame as she caught him staring at her as she tried to haul a half decomposed corpse from the mound of bodies before her.

He did not offer to help her, nor did he offer her clemency. He’d seen clearly enough in the photograph that her husband was an officer in the German Army. High ranking if Nixon was any judge of the German uniform.

The woman had a more direct hand in this camp than most of these people. She had chosen not to know about it deliberately, where the others could plead genuine ignorance for all the good it would do their conscience.

As he turned away, he spied a group of white crosses over by an improvised awning. He made a beeline for it, eager to get away from the gruesome stench of death for the rank smell of the living. It was easy to spot Speirs as he tried to get between an exhausted Doc Roe and more patients. The doctor looked ready to deck the man.

"Hey, Doc," called Nixon as he reached the increasingly frantic man, cutting through the argument. "It's time to go. Easy Company's moving out at 1200."

Roe froze, remembering himself and his duty to Easy Company.

With a resigned, if still slightly mutinous scowl on his face, the medic set about repacking his aid kit with what supplies he felt could be spared, as bandages and syrettes. There was no telling whether or not they'd see combat after all and there was no sense in leaving supplies that might be needed later behind.

"Where's Ev?" demanded Speirs.

Roe looked around the tent and eventually pointed her out.

"I got her," said Nixon. Speirs looked reluctant, but nodded and made sure Roe didn't get distracted.

As Nix made his way over, he realized that Eve, like Roe, was exhausted. If she'd slept last night at all, he'd put money down that it hadn't been for more than an hour or two. They'd all done it before and in worse condition, but it was still worrisome that she hadn't gone back at all for a rest of some kind. With the camp on a strict "no food allowed" stigma, he was certain neither she nor the Doc had eaten since yesterday.

"Buchanan!" he called.

Eve's gaze found him quickly and she made her way over, obviously bracing for some kind of scolding. But scoldings bored Nix, both giving them and getting them. Sarcasm suited him better. "You're late," he said, noting the bags under her eyes. "We're pulling out at 1200. We have to go now."

-

Eve blinked, surprised to find Nixon here. It was still early if her reckoning was correct.

It took too long for what he’d said to sink in.

"Yes, sir," she said passing off the supplies she was holding to the medic she’d been assisting, flinching when she got a good look at him for the first time.

In the light, he suddenly looked so much like Alex that she wanted to vomit.

Turning away, Eve found Speirs's eyes carefully, and somewhat insultingly, looking her over with concern. He wasn't looking too hot either, she noticed.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, seeing something he wasn't sure he was comfortable with her seeing.

"You’re the one I should be asking that, First Sergeant," Speirs said. “We need to get back to town."

She nodded meekly and followed the two officers back to the jeep. Speirs nearly had to tow the Cajun into a jeep, but Eve didn’t even bother to protest. She slid into the back seat, folding herself up next to Roe.

She passed out only moments after they were underway, utterly exhausted. She pretended not to notice the hot tears tracking down her cheeks as sleep claimed her.

She woke vaguely when the jeep stopped and let Gene herd her into the amphibious vehicles they were using for the next leg of the trip. She didn’t want to let go of Gene again, or he’d just wander off. She smiled; a small victorious gesture when Gene settled in next to her and she held him there until he nodded off, likely even more emotionally drained than she was.

It took her no time at all to fall back asleep as soon as the truck started up, having never truly woken up in the first place.

-

Nixon watched the worn out duo clamber into the vehicles, feeling lighter now that they were back where they belonged.

He knew he wasn’t the only one keeping a close eye on the both of them from the command jeep. It was obvious Eve was already asleep, but he really relaxed when Roe's head bobbed, indicating that the Doc had nodded off as well.

"All right there, Nix?" called Winters from the driver's seat as the convoy roared to life.

Nix actually considered his answer this time, instead of reacting instinctively and being flippant with his obviously concerned friend.

A lot of shit had happened in the last few days. The failed drop, all those young lives lost, and feeling the overwhelming burden of having to relay their fates to their loved ones. Him, who didn’t even know them well enough to identify them by name. His impending divorce hung like a cloud over his head, or a weight around his neck, he couldn’t decide which metaphor was more apt to describing the crushing despair he’d felt, the rage that Kathy would take everything out from under him now, when they were so close to being done and finished with this whole mess.

And then the appalling reality of the camp and what real suffering looked like made him feel like his problems were petty and small. Easily overcome with patience and time.

"I will be," he decided.

He could tell the smug bastard was smiling.

-

Three days later, they were in another German town, completely interchangeable by now save that this time the entire town had been nearly leveled flat, save (by some miracle of God) the glorious cathedral.

The German townspeople took their arrival as a signal that it was finally safe to start picking up the broken pieces of their lives and their town and set it to rights, for surely the Allies wouldn't drop bombs on a town with their own troops in it, and surely the Germans would never consider bombing their own countrymen.

Eve wasn't entirely sure their logic was sound, but left them to it.

After Landsburg, she found it hard to put this town's suffering into perspective. Intellectually she understood that these people too had lost their entire way of life and every scrap of their belongings down to the buildings they'd probably grown up in. There were people who'd perished under those fallen buildings; but at least their deaths had been relatively quick and painless – not the agonizing drawn out death by starvation those prisoners in Landsburg had faced.

As far as she knew, this was just a wayfaring station for Easy Company as they moved deeper into Bavaria. Surprisingly they'd met absolutely no resistance from the SS or any other German fraction. She hoped the Krauts too foolish to surrender had all decided to quietly return home.

None of that mattered right now, though. They weren't being shot at, and that was all Eve really cared about.

It was a peaceful afternoon. In the very center of the square, four musicians had set up their string instruments and were playing a mournful Beethoven sonata. How the instruments had stayed intact when the buildings had not was another mystery Eve didn't care to puzzle over.

Eve, Liebgott, and what amounted to a pell-mell gathering of Toccoa men had set themselves up on the second floor of a half missing building, looking down on the town square out of the demolished walls, making various makeshift seats out of piles of rubble.

The locals hadn't wanted to enter the half-demolished structure, fearing it would come down on their heads, but Easy Company had stayed in buildings in much worse condition in Holland and were quite comfortable amidst the ruins, watching the German civilians sort through the piles of broken bricks for scraps of what used to be someone's life.

"Tell you one thing about the Krauts" said Luz around a cigarette in his mouth. The radioman was perched closest to the edge, near the ruined plywood wall. Bull stood just behind him. Liebgott and Perconte had managed to snag actual chairs from somewhere and had gone to the effort of hauling the onto the pseudo balcony. "They sure clean up good."

"Yep," agreed Liebgott. "All you need is a little Mozart."

"Beethoven," corrected Nixon from the doorway to the house, joining them.

"Sorry, sir?" asked Liebgott.

"That's not Mozart, that's Beethoven," he said.

"Mozart is happy," Eve supplied absent-mindedly. For such a ridiculous guy, the composer had produced some of the most intricate music she'd ever heard at the concert halls, suiting his upbeat and flighty personality well. “Did you need something, sir?”

"Hitler's dead," Nixon announced, out of the blue. Every head on the terrace whipped towards him in surprise.

_No fucking way._

"Holy shit," said Liebgott after a beat of stunned silence.

"Shot himself, in Berlin," clarified Nixon, even though no one had asked.

 _At least there's not going to be a trial. Or a lynching._ She could barely imagine the potential political nightmare that had been neatly avoided by the tyrant's death.

"Is the war over, sir?" asked Bull, getting to the heart of it.

"No," said Nixon, a certain amount of disgust in his voice. He sighed. "We have orders for Berchtesgaden, we move out in one hour."

"Why?" asked Webster. "The man's not home."

Eve snorted as Liebgott took another drag on his cigarette and then flicked the butt off into the pile of rubble below.

They moved, men at the back gathering together their gear and shuffling off down the stairs. Nixon patted Eve on the shoulder as she gathered up her rifle and discarded helmet, lingering to hear the last of the piece.

"Should have killed himself three years ago and saved us a lot of trouble," grumbled Webster.

"Yeah, he should have," answered Nixon, savoring the last notes of the masterpiece with Eve. "But he didn't."

The Captain followed Eve out of their perch and down the stairs. The square was eerily quiet now that the music had stopped. The whole town seemed to stand on some kind of solemn ceremony as the soldiers prepared to depart and abandon the citizens to their fate.

Eve pushed the thought out of her mind, something she'd recently had much practice with, and gathered her bags whilst making sure that everyone else had their stuff squared away as well.

As the loaded trucks finally pulled away, Eve thought, _Here we go again._

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Updates are every Thursday. All forms of feedback are appreciated. See you next week!


	51. Berchtesgaden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company discovered the atrocity hidden in the forests around Landsberg.
> 
> "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting." ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War
> 
> Now: Easy Company enters the heartland of Nazi Germany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Beta's: This week, Atman, FandomlyCroft and Laura001 were all amazing, going above and beyond to make sure this chapter got out to you. All my love to them.

-Chapter 51-

Easy Company slowly led the 506 towards the height of Nazi power unimpeded. It seemed too good to be true after their recent run of bad luck had flipped so dramatically. There was no trace of any kind of resistance, much less the SS. Though every minute took them deeper into Germany, the only troops they encountered were surrendering forces.

And yet, Eve was anxious. Nixon’s promise of fierce opposition haunted her, sending shivers up and down her spine.

Every bend in the road was a potential ambush, hidden SS just waiting to jump out and slaughter the ambling train of invaders. Even though each successive turn proved her wrong, her shoulders crept closer to her ears.

Being on the edge of fear was draining, but she couldn’t shake the feeling, not when the same instinct had kept her alive so many times.

She was starting to feel, for the first time in a long time, like she wasn’t doomed to die in this war, like she had a chance of surviving; and that hope, desperate though it was, was hard to shake. It made her cautious, it put her on edge.

Someone jostled her shoulder.

Eve flinched violently and whirled, only to find herself staring into Roe’s cautious eyes.

“What is it, Gene?” she asked.

He shrugged, scanning her for a minute before he quietly advised, “Don't trouble trouble, Eve, until trouble troubles you.”

Startled by the familiar rhyme, Eve glanced at Gene, and then followed the medic’s gaze as he looked over the other men.

Gene’s tilted head dragged her gaze to the other men in the duck. She tried to see what he was trying to tell her, beyond the obvious.

They were all on edge. A number of them were shifting nervously, fingering their weapons like they were on a C47 waiting to drop rather than rolling through a peaceful countryside.

“They’re on edge because you’re on edge,” Gene said, still keeping his voice soft.

She caught Liebgott’s gaze as the man glanced at her. A moment later, Sergeant Grant glanced at her too, and then Christenson just after him.

The war had hammered home many lessons. One of the most important ones was to trust each other's instincts. It had saved them more than a few times.

Gene was right.

Her anxiety wasn’t helping anyone. And she was tired of being on edge.

Eve let out a breath, forcing herself to relax. "I'm being ridiculous," she admitted, pitching her voice a hair louder than necessary so the whole truck could hear her. "No Kraut with any sense would ambush us now."

"They'd be in for one hell of a surprise if they did," Liebgott agreed, his tone arrogant, but his eyes steely; ready for a fight.

Another glance around the truck proved that he wasn't the only one. They were ready for an assault, and Eve just had to trust that that would be enough. Oddly, the fact that the others were primed and ready should anything happen helped Eve relax a bit. They weren’t going to be caught off guard. They were ready.

She gave Liebgott a grateful smile and turned to survey the scenery once more, forcing herself to look beyond the possible hiding spots and just enjoy the view.

An off-color joke, shouted up from the truck behind them, sent a ripple of laughter through the truck and the mood broke. Conversation started flowing freely among the men and Eve could feel herself relaxing in earnest.

She was safe with Easy Company at her back.

Tension drained – as much as it ever was – Eve let herself enjoy the spectacular alpine landscape in all its splendor, rolling green pastures filled with jewel-toned wildflowers and framed by imposing winter capped peaks.

It was a view worth savoring.

It wasn’t until they started winding up the switchback laden road through the Alps that Easy Company found some open opposition. Much to Eve’s relief, it was a roadblock rather than an ambush. The Krauts had blown half the mountains down to impede them. Massive boulders of white limestone made an impassible wall that was at least three men high.

Rather than do the sensible thing, and just find another way around, Command had decided this was the route they were going to take and no other. They might’ve tried going around anyway – they’d already been waiting for several hours – but Colonel Sink and the rest of Division Command were with them.

Bottom line; they weren’t going anywhere until they cleared the road. The engineers responsible for it were dawdling somewhere a long way behind.

In light of this, a few of the more creative men were making use of the supplies they now had in abundance.

Eve was torn between amusement and exasperation as she watched Malarkey’s heavy weapons squad attempt to demolish a thirty-foot wall of solid granite boulders by piling a handful of grenades together. The grenade-bearer booked it back to safety as his buddy fired his bazooka into the grenade nest.

It made a grand explosion, shaking the road and loosing gravel sized rubble to go ricocheting down the hill, but as the smoke cleared, it revealed a minuscule impact on the impasse. There was a new pile of rubble, sure, but they'd only managed to gain a few inches, if that.

Eve sighed in disappointment and let her helmet ‘thunk’ back into the sun warmed truck she'd been leaning on, exasperated. _We're going to be here all day._

Most of Easy Company were milling around behind her, just as bored as she was. She scanned the men, almost hoping someone was getting up to trouble just so she would have something to do.

Webster was writing in his notebook, something he'd been doing a lot of since his return now that she thought about it. Liebgott was on the ground, back pressed against one of the truck tires. There Shifty was, fiddling with his rifle while Skinny looked on. Nothing interesting. Everyone was bored and watching the only viable entertainment, which was the pitiful attempts at blasting open the road.

She glanced up at Speirs, reclining next to her and muttered, "We need a tank."

"Or the godforsaken engineers," retorted Speirs.

"Sir, they'd just have us sitting here for another three hours while they found us a tank," she said.

He snorted, almost cracked a smile, but didn't argue.

She leaned back again and closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was serenely waiting when the impatience to get going was eating her alive.

She’d learned her lesson – one that she’d always known as a politician’s daughter – someone was always watching. There was nothing to do, but she couldn’t let her frustration show or everyone else would pick up on it and their frustration would grow.

But she was _bored_. She’d thought she’d quelled that particular emotion. A lot of war was sitting around waiting for horrible moments of fear and death. She’d long since gotten used to the Army’s typical incompetence, the hurry-up-and-wait attitude that came with the military, but she’d forgotten. They’d been on the front line for so long, fighting for any scrap of rest and down time they could manage, that she’d forgotten what it was like to be impatient.

She hated the feeling. She wanted to be _useful_. She wanted to be doing something to validate being all the way out here, fighting, shooting, planning, anything but sitting on her heels waiting for someone to catch up.

Usually, she’d go find something to do, but she’d exhausted everything she could think of about an hour ago. She and Speirs had already outlined their plan for going into the Berchtesgaden, and then run through its intricacies with the other lieutenants over an hour ago. Assuming they ever managed to get there, everyone knew what they should be doing.

There really wasn't much else for them to talk about.

Luz and Malarkey came forward from where they'd been conferring behind the truck she and Speirs were leaning on, some kind of unholy glee in their strides as they brought forward an even larger pile of grenades to try on the rocks.

Eve scrubbed her eyes with a hand, shooting an exasperated glance at Speirs. It hadn't worked at all the first time, so of course the logical solution was to try again with more grenades – as though the number of grenades was going to make any difference. They could have a thousand grenades and still not manage to destroy a single granite boulder, let alone this mountain of them. It was like trying to blast through bedrock with a firecracker.

She glanced at Speirs, intending to quietly voice her exasperation at this pitiful planning – not that they had any other option and at least it was some, if miniscule, forward progress – to find that the man wasn’t paying attention to the grenade bearing team at all.

Instead, the captain was eying Winters's jeep.

Eve had seen that calculating look in the Captain’s eye before and recognized it instantly.

Speirs had a plan; he was just waiting for the right moment.

Eve straightened from her bored hunch, suddenly eager.

The man caught her gaze and gave her a mischievous smirk before taking off, sauntering towards Winters's jeep.

Eve grinned and dogged his heels. 

"If you're looking for someone to find another way up that mountain," Speirs said, announcing his presence to Winters and Nixon as soon as he got into their hearing range. "Easy Company is ready and willing."

"Duly noted," Winters smugly replied, obviously having expected nothing less. "I've already recommended you to Colonel Sink."

Eve took in the man's bored slouch and sympathized, subtly stretching out her own spine. Nixon gave her a quick smile before his eyes slid back to focus on the shenanigans behind her.

Speirs smiled. “Terrific, let's go find out where Hitler lived.”

Eve bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the man's delighted tone. Apparently, several weeks without any real fighting had lifted a huge weight from the Captain’s shoulders.

He turned on his heel to escape before Winters could remind him of the ridiculous wait order.

"Ron," said Winters, spoiling the game. Speirs hadn’t even made it a yard away from the command jeep. "We're not sure what's up there and the Colonel doesn't want us taking any unnecessary risks."

Eve bit her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. "Unnecessary risks" her big toe. Easy was more than capable of taking on (almost) any force they came across. In fact, it might do the men good to see a little action, for all the break had been well deserved and appreciated.

Speirs seemed almost petulant as he answered Winters with a huffed sigh, "So the French are going to beat us to the Eagle's Nest?"

Most of the Americans felt that because the French had lost so quickly, they didn’t deserve any of the spoils. Her uncle’s home flashed through her mind. Eve wanted to be among the troops who seized Hitler’s prize.

Eve tried to keep these complicated feelings from her face. From the look Winters shot her, she didn’t seem to have done a good job.

The roar of an engine had her quickly stepping out of the way. Colonel Sink's jeep pulled up neatly into the space where Speirs had just been standing.

Her hand was saluting before she'd even recognized the man. The only people in jeeps were officers.

Sink gave her a returning salute as Winters straightened up from his slouch.

The Colonel didn’t say anything, pulling deeply on his cigarette as he observed the mountainous debris blockading their route.

Eve turned to see what had the man so focused just in time to see George Luz running like hell back to the bazooka line.

"Gents, I just had a conversation with General LeClerk," said Sink, looking over and meeting Winters' eye. "He told me he was first into Paris, and by God, he wanted to be first into Berchtesgaden." He shifted to meet Speirs and then Eve's eye, letting them know that he had indeed heard the Captain.

The bazooka team fired. Dirt spewed upwards as the man made a direct hit on the pile of grenades. But it was only seconds later that it cleared to reveal – once again – not much progress.

Sink picked up right where he'd left off. "Told him I understood his point." He gave another sucking inhale on his cigarette and turned back to Winters. "Now you fire up Second Battalion and outflank that French son-of-a-bitch."

Eve was reminded firmly why she had always respected the heck out of Colonel Sink.

"Yes, sir," said Winters with a salute and a laugh.

Eve, Speirs, and Nixon saluted just a beat behind, each grinning fiercely as Sink’s driver – not Lorraine, Eve noted, and vaguely wondered what had happened to that kid – fired up the jeep and threw it in reverse.

Speirs barely waited for the vehicle to get out of his way before he stepped eagerly forward to get the official order.

"I want Easy Company in the lead," said Winters. "Have the men assemble down on the autobahn."

It was probably the best order Eve had ever been given. _Finally_.

"Yes, sir," said Speirs, another smile splitting his face.

He clapped Eve on the back as she strode by him to spread the word.

She was beaming, hands already signaling the men to mount up and get ready to move out.

There were excited smiles and cheers aplenty as the bored men sprang into activity.

"We're really moving?" Talbert asked when she reached Third Platoon.

Eve nodded, schooling her face took a serious mien and reminded him of the plan they’d made. "Speirs wants two columns on either side of the caravan, remember, I'll lead the right column, I want you on the left with First. Third will come up behind. Second is staying in the trucks. Let the other sergeants know to watch for trouble. We could be walking into an ambush."

He nodded and scurried off to follow orders.

Eve tried to ignore the knot in her stomach and got ready to invade the home of the Nazi leadership.

-

Berchtesgaden was deserted. The town looked like it had been plucked from a time long gone. Each building was unfairly untouched by the war. Someone had taken the time to make sure everything was boarded up tight, bracing for the coming storm. The intricate details carved on the balconies and trim loudly proclaimed German wealth and craftsmanship, years of time and effort going in to make this lavish mountain retreat almost as stunning as the surrounding scenery. Someone had probably spent half a lifetime carving each beautiful etching.

Long white linens, flapping gently in the soft wind, plead for clemency on this beautiful place.

The typical cacophony of a thriving town – and a place adorned with such opulence must have been thriving – was completely absent. The distant sound of a dog barking, foolishly trying to warn absent owners of the invaders, rang through the paper littered streets; all eerie reminders that this had once been a bustling city.

The Nazi stronghold was an opulent ghost town, abandoned in the wake of the invading force, as though the American army was the plague coming to reap unwary victims.

Eve was unfazed. She led the right column of Easy Company into the town square. Some of the newer guys had their guns aimed up into windows in anticipation of sniper fire, but most, including Eve herself, strolled along without concern. Surely, if they were going to encounter resistance the ax would've already dropped.

Anyone and everyone responsible for orchestrating the war – a war that she'd pledged her life to for the last two years – had lived here. People who were directly responsible for the death of so many of her friends. People who'd authorized – and then profited from – the mass slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people, maybe more if the rumors of more prisoner death camps were true, including her uncle and his family.

There was no clemency to be had for such people. No possibility of these houses remaining untouched by war now that the Americans were here.

Eve had no illusions. The houses were going to be stripped of whatever stolen opulence they held. Worse, she knew several of the men had plans to hunt down the owners of these very fine houses to make them pay for their crimes.

She had no desire to participate in the retribution she knew Speirs and others had planned for whoever was responsible for that horrible camp – retribution that was entirely against sanctioned army policies.

But she wouldn't let herself feel guilty about it either.

She took a deep breath to clear her head and refocus on the now. Easy Company had orders to find the famous Berchtesgaden hotel and secure it. That was what her attention should be on right now, not possible things to come.

Usually, Regiment HQ ended up in the least destroyed building available, but there was no shortage of unscathed houses here. Instead, the Colonel had decided to stay in the world famous Berchtesgaden Hof, where Hitler and his party leaders had hosted everyone from Wallace Simpson to Joseph Stalin.

She turned the corner and let out a short laugh.

"Nice of them to put a sign up," agreed Liebgott, who'd somehow managed to sneak up through the ranks.

"Does the Colonel like red?" Eve asked, understating the large Nazi banners draping the façade of the building.

"Maybe he wants a souvenir?" Liebgott asked.

"The better ones will be inside," said Eve, stating the obvious.

Looting was on everyone’s mind, stripping these grotesque people of whatever profit they’d made from this war.

"Think we'll get a crack at 'em?"

"Probably not," said Eve, before spying the man she needed. "Sergeant Talbert?" she called and stepped aside to start organizing the men into teams to sweep the town – just to be sure it was well and truly abandoned – and secure lodgings for the platoons.

He’d just left when Nixon, who was driving, pulled up next to her and stopped. Winters gave her a nod from the passenger seat, while Welsh was still looking around at the houses from the back.

"Not exactly what I was expecting," Nixon said idly.

“Still anticipating resistance, sir?" asked Eve, eyes sharp. If there was anyone who would know about German troop movements it was Nixon, even if he wasn't on Regiments staff anymore. If he was still expecting resistance, she’d need to let the boys know before they walked into some kind of trap.

"There aren't even any natives," commented Welsh. She smiled, happy to see him. She hadn’t seen a lot of the man since Bastogne. They'd put Welsh in charge of F Company when he returned from the hospital back in Belgium. To her knowledge, he was good at the job.

Nixon rolled his eyes. "I told you, Harry, that's because you have to be Nazi elite to live here." He sounded like he'd already said as much before.

"Or married to one," Eve added, before turning to address Winters. "Sir, I've got the men sweeping the town now in pairs. Nothing fancy. Do you have a preference on where you'd like Battalion CP located?"

Winters shared a look with Nixon, who gave an unrepentant smile. "I guess we'll just have to stay with the Colonel at the hotel."

Eve grinned. "Yes, sir."

Nixon and Welsh laughed, carefree. Even Winters cracked a smile as he got out of the jeep and strode into up the impressive stairs to the hotel.

Her duties and obligations finished or delegated, Eve followed the officers through the stained-glass doors, displaying four various coats of arms that she didn’t recognize, and entered one of the most renowned hotels in the world.

Just beyond the beautiful doors, a large bronze bust of Hitler, his imposing gaze tilted to intimidate anyone entering the hotel, greeted them.

It reminded Eve of the busts Roman Emperors had fashioned in antiquity. She felt a curl of disgust at the idealized likeness, even as the resemblance resonated. Hitler obviously had tried to emulate those leaders with his conquest of Europe. He’d even gone so far as to model more than a few of Nazi traditions around the legendary empire; everything from the raised-arm salute, to the grand victory parades he'd propagated the news with for the last decade, to the garish golden eagles that featured almost as prominently as the swastika.

After witnessing the savagery he was responsible for, Eve felt certain that Hitler's legacy would outshine even the most barbaric of Rome’s emperors.

She wondered if Hitler knew, before he blew his brains out, that he was destined to be notorious as a barbarian in the annals of history, amongst the likes of Nero – who'd played his harp while he watched the world burn – rather than Augustus, who'd built a legacy of empire and social reform that still echoed to this day.

She briefly contemplated tipping the bust from its pedestal, toppling it like the Nazi empire – and erasing his face from history like the Romans had done to Nero – but it was bolted down. She'd just end up straining her shoulder and get a scolding from Roe.

Instead, she followed Winters and Nixon through the darkly paneled room, accented with rich burgundy fabrics that screamed obscene luxury.

To Eve, it seemed like someone was in the process of emptying the hotel of its valuables. The carpets and rugs had been rolled back to expose the hard wood floors, ready to be carted out.

-

The hotel was something else. Nixon hadn’t seen this kind of obnoxious wealth since walking through the hallowed halls of Yale.

Winters kept walking forward, going to check out the open hallway in front of them, being thorough. Nixon’s gaze slid over the magnificent fireplace, flanked by two burgundy wingback armchairs and reading lamps, and landed on the front desk.

There was a man, the first he’d seen in the whole town, still dressed in what must’ve been the hotels uniform, doing something behind the massive wooden piece. He didn’t seem to have noticed the soldiers yet, turning to go into the back room.

Some noise must’ve given them away, because the man froze.

He met Nixon’s eyes.

Nixon already had his sidearm out of his holster and aimed for the man as he reached for something frantically, knocking something metal to the floor with a clatter.

“No, no,” said Nixon, chiding the man as he closed the distance between them.

The man froze.

He watched as the man’s blue eyes flicked between his gun and the book, analyzing the risk.

He must have seen some kind of hesitance in the Captain's eyes, because the gun was not enough to deter him completely. Hand still on the book, the man looked like he was preparing to run for it.

Nixon braced himself to kill the man, steadying his stance, when the old man’s eyes flicked past him and he froze completely.

He turned, to see what had changed the man’s mind and his breath caught.

There was Eve. Her piercing gaze was like ice as she stared down the edge of her M1, daring the man to disobey.

He reconsidered and backed off, letting Nixon have the book.

Nixon smiled at her and took the book with a shake of his head.

He would’ve reconsidered too if he’d been pinned with that look.

He was damn sure glad that Eve was on their side.

Eve held the man's gaze, transfixing him even as Nixon smiled sarcastically at the man and pulled the guestbook from his grasp to take a look at it.

The concierge obviously thought Eve the greater threat, because he didn't lose eye contact with her despite Nixon's violation.

The captain glanced back at Eve, and took a moment to appreciate the battle of wills going on over his head as he let his gun thump down on the desk, snapping the old man's attention back to himself. Nixon smiled his nastiest smile and said, "You can go now."

The man glanced at Eve. Nixon tilted his head in a close approximation of a nod, just able to see the woman with his periphery vision.

Very pointedly – watching the German the whole time for unexpected tricks – Eve lowered her gun and let the man to scurry away. Nixon smirked at her and tossed a wink her way as he started flipping through the guestbook with relish, taking notes of the prestigious names and their frequency as he flipped through the thick pages.

-

Eve watched for a moment, making sure the concierge had truly fled before taking the time to look around the reception room. She glanced around at the other men to confirm her instinct. Winters nodded from where he'd checked the stairs for snipers, letting her know nothing was coming down from above. Welsh gave no input, unconcerned as he gawked.

She relaxed, certain there were no further threats.

It wasn’t worth following the elderly man. Even if he might give them information about the past hotel guests, it was well and truly apparent that the Nazi’s had fled. They didn’t want to hurt or impede the civilians any more than necessary. Being the concierge at a Nazi stronghold might’ve been suspect, but it could also have just been a job, taken out of desperation to feed the man’s family.

With an eye trained to notice subtleties in décor, Eve took in the room. On the whole, the hotel was decorated to favor a more masculine taste, lacking the softness of the textiles or paintings a female eye would be drawn to. She made note of the stuffed bear in the corner and the antlers mounted on the wall, the emphasized value the Germans obviously placed in hunting and felt a little sick when she thought about how easily they’d traded killing animals for killing humans, especially with regard to how easily they’d taken to exterminating people by the thousands.

Trying to put the camp from her mind, Eve dogged Winters through to the adjacent room, filled with tables and chairs as though a four course dinner was about to be served, and couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed.

The dining room was a textbook example of restrained, masculine opulence. Crystal chandeliers, hung from the twenty foot ceilings as mere decorative accents to the five foot scrolled bronze – or perhaps it was gold – one that dominated the room. Lush red drapes flanked massive floor to ceiling windows, framing another Hitler bust to match the one at the entrance and highlighting the jaw-dropping view.

Heavy, bronze frames drew the eye to the mirrors hanging on either side of the windows, making the room appear larger than it was. The dark wood crown molding and wainscoting emphasized the cream walls and gold accents, the woodwork its own impressive masterpiece. Each table was made up with an immaculately pressed white tablecloth, dark regal chairs tucked forward, and crystal glassware.

Eve hadn't seen such splendor since the campaign balls she'd been dragged to as a child, before the Depression made such opulence distasteful.

She'd truly stepped into a room used to catering to the elite.

Half-starved, dirty skeletons desperately clinging to her mind flashed behind her eyelids as she blinked, making her feel ill. _How could such luxury and such deprivation exist in the same country?_

"Wow," said Welsh, already a room beyond her, but his voice was so amplified by the perfect acoustics that it sounded as though he was standing right next to her, despite being on the other side of the deserted hallway.

A sharp clatter and the crashing slam of wood striking wood yanked Eve's attention to the room behind her that she hadn't noticed. It was a different man than the concierge; but he was obviously the last butler standing, trying vainly to pack of a chest of silverware. He'd dropped whatever he’d been holding in his surprise, letting it fall pell-mell as he scrambled to get away.

Eve didn't have enough time to pull out her gun up before the man was ducking out a side door and escaping. She ignored the soft chiding behind her – telling her to let him run – and followed him, her gun ready even as she desperately prayed that he wasn't racing off to alert the missing SS resistance.

If he was running, it was for a reason. She wanted to know what that reason was.

She scanned the hallway beyond the door quickly and efficiently. There was absolutely nothing of note in the hallway other than more splendor – not even the fleeing man.

Huffing slightly, trying to ignore the dread that was trying to turn her stomach to lead, Eve returned to the dining room to find Harry stuffing his helmet with the abandoned silverware. Winters stood over his friend, examining the sheen of the crystal light reflecting off the flat plane of a knife.

"-take half?" Welsh was saying to Winters. "I can't carry all this." He piled pieces into his helmet indiscriminately, not really caring about making complete sets, just eager to lay claim to as much of the finery as possible. "You know whoever comes in here after us is gonna take whatever isn't nailed down."

"Well," said Winters, taking off his own helmet to use as a bucket for his share of the plunder. "Wouldn't want that to happen."

"Ev, you want some?" Welsh called, catching her sniggering at the byplay.

"No, thank you," she said. She didn't need silverware.

Besides, she was far more interested in the art on the walls. If she wasn't mistaken, these were either French Masterpieces, or phenomenal prints. She'd recognized a Monet on the far wall, and a Renoir down that hallway the butler had fled through.

Eve wanted to make sure she got these pieces before they fell into the hands of someone who wouldn't know to be careful with them.

Even if these were just prints, they were very, very good ones, likely worth a small fortune to the right person. She thought they were beautiful.

She pulled them carefully from the walls even though she wasn't sure how she was going to get them home. It was true that she could just cut the paintings out of their frames with her bayonet, but she was extremely reluctant to inflict any damage to them. Besides, the frames were just as beautiful as the art was.

On the upside, mail probably wouldn't be running until tomorrow so she had some time to figure it out.

Eve turned at the sound of boots to see Speirs, More, and Grant enter the room and taking in the lavish luxury.

Predictably, Speirs made a beeline for Winters and Welsh. "Nice," the Captain said, reaching over to examine their find.

"Don't even think about it!" snapped Harry, as fierce as a pit-bull as the other company leader tried to put his own hand into the fray.

Eve managed to choke down her laughter at the exchange, but couldn't help the obscene grin on her face, despite turning her back resolutely to the three males; Speirs was a little too well known for looting silver for Harry to want to share with him.

She glanced over her shoulder, just catching the questioning look her captain shot Winters, and had to turn away again when the redhead just grinned at him unapologetically.

Knowing he'd been beaten, Speirs looked around to find some spoils for himself.

Her fingers bumped into a cold metal corner, startling Eve from the drama behind her. She looked down. She’d been idly tracing the inlay of the table she was standing in front of, when her fingers had tripped over a small silver box with an idyllic scene gracefully etched into the top. The box fit easily in her palm. Inquisitive, she opened the lid, it was empty but lined with a burgundy velvet interior. As she turned it over, her eyes critically examined the detailing and the scene the craftsman had painstakingly molded over every inch of the metal.

Something about it reminded her of her sister, Elizabeth.

As though she was staring at a movie film painted in vivid color, Eve was suddenly thrust back in time, years ago now, when they’d been getting ready together for some event or party or something – the individual occasions had long since blurred together.

Elizabeth had always favored ribbons and bobbins for her hair and had no end of trouble finding them in the mess of her vanity, much less keeping them orderly for when she wanted to use them.

The nostalgia was so strong that – almost without her permission – her fingers tucked the box into her pocket.

The sense of home lingering around her shoulders, Eve checked the room again and saw that the men were still engaged in their own looting activities – much to her relief. To shake the taste of homesickness once and for all, she grabbed the bronze statuette, set in a place of pride on the buffet table, and examined it – only half seriously contemplated the likelihood that she'd be able to carry both it, and the art, successfully.

"Major Winters, sir?" said Alton More.

His interruption yanked Eve back to the present. She put the statuette down, feeling guilty. This was enemy territory, not a boutique. She had a job to do.

She turned to give the conversation her full attention. It was time to get back to work.

"More?" Winters acknowledged the private.

"Ah," the man stuttered, seemingly surprised that the man knew his name. "Permission to climb the mountain, sir? The Eagle's Nest?" More begged.

Eve wondered if he was eager for his own spoils. The Eagle’s nest was the jewel in Hitler's crown, and judging by the opulence of this hotel, it was a sight Eve wanted to see.

Plus there was the glory involved in such a task to consider.

If ever there was a prize to be had, a castle to be taken, the Eagle’s nest was it.

"Wait one minute," asked Winters, remembering himself. Pulling on his rank like a cloak, he straightened, back to being a major in the space of a breath.

"Harry," said Major Winters with a sigh, pulling Welsh out of counting his spoils. "Have F Company put a double guard on the hotel. Set up roadblocks on the west side of the town. I want Battalion HQ to seal off the north side, and prepare for prisoners."

"Sergeant Grant," called Welsh, going off to make the arrangements, his helmet still full of silver.

"And Harry," said Winters softly before his friend could get too far. "Nobody gets hurt, not now."

The man nodded and headed out.

Speirs snapped down one of the bright red banners with a sharp sound that yanked everyone's attention over to him. "And Easy?" he asked, voice pitched to carry throughout the hall.

"Easy'll head up the mountain, through the Obersalzberg," said Winters, giving the captain his full attention and a slight smile. "Take the Eagle's Nest."

Speirs's eyes lit up as he smiled with glee.

Eve traded her own eager smile with More as he and Speirs filed out.

She lingered, eyes on the suddenly lonely Winters.

"Sir?" she said, nervously, fingering the box in her pocket. She almost didn’t want to ask. She was sure she could hide it in her pocket for a while.

"What is it, Ev?"

“Never mind,” she said, talking herself out of it.

“Ev?” he said again, forehead wrinkled in a concerned frown.

It was too late to back out now. Biting her lip, she pulled the box from her pocket, and held it out for his inspection. Of all the pieces she’d been considering, this was the one she already couldn’t bear being parted with. "Could you watch this for me until we get back from the Nest?" She answered the question, even though she knew he would never ask it. "It's for my sister."

His eyes softened and he gave her a smile. "I didn't know you had a sister."

Eve blushed. It had been a long time since she’d thought about Elizabeth. "It reminds me of her. I guess it's silly," she said, still unsure. “You don’t have to,” she said. “I can put it back.”

"Don’t worry about it, Ev. Take it. While you’re at it, is there anything else?" he asked.

She could feel her cheeks heating up in a blush. He'd must’ve noticed her casing the room earlier.

But since he was offering…

"Could you watch these too?" she asked.

Winters laughed. She supposed she might look a little funny weighed down with two paintings under one arm, the bronze statuette under the other. She gave him a grin as she left him with the loot and a salute before running off to catch up with Speirs.

The captain was waiting for her outside and started issuing orders as soon as she was within earshot.

She smiled. _Back to work_.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the beginning of the end now. My apologies for the late update tonight. All my love to everyone who has supported this story (and me). It means the world. Feedback is always appreciated, but I hope you all know how much each and every reader means to me. Thank you.
> 
> Updates are every Thursday. See you then!


	52. Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company took Berchtesgaden and entered Germany. 
> 
> “The harder the conflict the more glorious the triumph.”- Thomas Paine
> 
> “Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.” – Douglas MacArthur
> 
> Now: Easy Company takes the Eagles Nest and get's more news from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fabulous Beta's: Atman, Laura001 and FandomlyCroft pulled off the amazing feat of editing this monster into submission for me. Any remaining mistakes are mine. All my thanks and love for their hard work.

-Chapter 52-

The mood was jubilant as Easy Company pushed up the mountain crowned with Hitler’s stone fortress. Climbing the mountain felt like conquering the world. They were as deep into Hitler’s stronghold as they could be, about to seize his southern headquarters without a fight.

There was no doubt the war was all but over.

Eve led the scouting party – hand selected by Captain Speirs, all Toccoa veterans – ahead of the slow moving convoy. Soon they were racing up the hill with only the loosest sense of a formation as the run devolved into a bizarre form of tag; cheered on by the echoing cry of the company motto.

“Currahee!”

Malarkey, Grant, and Alton More were racing to see who was actually on point. Eve was next, with Popeye and Speirs close behind. But the group, both as a collective and as individuals intermittently paused to wave down at the rest of Easy Company, riding up the mountain in style. Privately, Eve thought it was worth the hike to get out of the trucks they'd been stuck in since Holland.

"Hi-Ho Silver!" Eve hollered, amidst many similar cries as they raced up the switchbacks with glee, so like those endless races up Mount Currahee a lifetime ago in basic training, when all they'd had to worry about was making it up the hill under time and Sobel yelling at them.

The feeling of triumph overtook her.

How far they'd come from then, when Germany was a distant, unimaginable goal with death a far likelier outcome. She'd never, in her wildest dreams, hoped to accomplish all this: becoming the First Sergeant for a company that had been a part of every major advance since D-Day – a company that had earned two presidential unit citations.

She threw away years of decorum as she lifted her head to the cloudless sky and released a cheer of exuberance to the open air below, only a sheer drop separating her from the ground and the winding convoy slowly maneuvering through the lynchpin turns.

Eve raised her fist in victory. She spied Talbert and Liebgott echoing the symbol from the road below.

Her joy turned into a laugh as Malarkey and Popeye tackled her in an overenthusiastic hug. In their exuberance, they very nearly toppled her to the ground. They held her up as she regained her balance, the three of them laughing with elation, her own happiness doubling as she realized her friends were just as joyful as she was.

She was especially glad that Sergeant Malarkey, who'd been far too reserved after Bastogne and Foy, was returning to his normal outgoing self.

It was like all the fear they’d been holding onto, all the uncertainty of war, had washed away. It was like suddenly being a kid again.

She made out Liebgott's shout of "Currahee!" amongst the commotion below as she untangled herself from the boys, laughing.

“Race you, First Sergeant!” said Speirs.

She took him on, laughing all the while.

It only took about an hour to make the climb, what with the sprinting they'd all indulged in to burn off their excessive energetic joy.

They made it to the Eagle's Nest long before the trucks did.

It was a beautiful house with a modern aesthetic. It definitely wasn't the mountaintop stronghold she’d expected it to be. Whoever designed the place had done so with a priority of both luxury and comfort over fortification.

The inside was elaborately laid out and adorned it with priceless prints and sculpture. Someone had obviously stripped much of what had once been there, shadows of removed paintings lightened patches of the walls.

They made their way through the complex methodically, not allowing the general splendor to distract them from the potential danger – they were too well trained, too experienced to make such a silly mistake.

On Speirs's order, Malarkey and Grant pushed opened the dark wooden doors of the inner keep. The Captain had his pistol drawn at his waist, Eve and More both had their M1s up and ready, just in case there was some kind of resistance beyond the doors.

The room was empty.

Spiers strode forward, keeping his pistol out as they entered the room, allowing their captain to be the first to enter. With a pointed finger, he directed Malarkey down one of the off shooting hallways, just to be thorough.

With no resistance in sight, Grant forwent his weapon, walking forward carefully, but with awe. The curved nature of the room allowed for panoramic views from every angle of the surrounding mountains and the valley below.

It was breathtaking. The soaring mountain peaks, so close she felt like she could reach out and grab a handful of snow from their frosty tops.

Bottles of champagne still in silver ice buckets adorned the tables, the ice long melted. More snagged one on his way by.

The large fireplace dominating the room and the massive piece of art hanging proudly above it snagged Eve's attention. It wasn't really a style of art she favored, but it was magnificent all the same.

Before she lost herself in the loops and swirls of paint the artist had woven into the scene, she pulled herself away to continue her sweep of the room.

Something on the floor threw her pm full alert, gun in her hand before her mind fully registered what she was seeing; instinctively recognizing the German uniform sprawled out before her.

Everyone froze, reacting to Eve's change in demeanor – a remnant of being in combat with each other, where instincts were all that separated them from death.

She advanced on the prone Nazi officer. He was on his belly down behind the coffee table. She kept her gun leveled at him, despite the face down sprawl of his form, ready to shoot if he so much as twitched.

Soft footfalls echoed on the rug covered wood floors as Speirs crossed the room. Eve made sure she had a steady aim as Speirs knelt and flipped the Nazi over, revealing the bullet wound in his head. The Kraut must have done it when he'd seen them entering the town, because he didn't stink of decay yet. Or maybe she’d just gotten used to the smell.

Eve sighed and relaxed as Speirs took the Luger from the dead man’s hand. He gave her a reassuring nod – the man was well and truly dead.

She slung her gun over her shoulder and watched Speirs pocket the weapon, suddenly remembering how much Hoobler had wanted one, and how Malarkey had almost died on D-Day trying to find one. And here one was, easy as you please for someone to pick it up. It was almost laughable how easy it was to find Lugers now that the Germans were surrendering – which involved turning in their weapons to the nearest allied troops who happily pocketed a few.

A loud pop shattered the silence.

She whirled on the culprit, catching Speirs as he sighed in exasperation – and Malarkey's unrepentant grin as he held the incriminating champagne bottle, still leaking bubbles all over the wood floor.

Malarkey glanced at the dead German, utterly unconcerned and declared, "Here's to him!" before taking a long swig.

"Hey, Ev?" More called from where he was standing by the lace covered round table.

"Yeah?" she said, making her way over to him, and abandoning Malarkey to his quiet, but stern reprimand from Speirs about noise and itchy trigger fingers.

"Take a look at this?" said More, pointing at a picture of Nazis parading through what might have been Berlin. He flipped a page and there was Hitler himself, meeting various prominent Nazis and another of the man eating in this very room.

"That's pretty neat," she said, watching him flip through a few more before leaving him to it. She wanted to search through the rest of the Nest for abandoned artwork to save before the rest of Easy arrived and there wouldn't be any peace to be found.

-

Once everyone else had arrived, it was easy enough to find the rest of Easy Company’s Sergeants and relay the rotation she and Speirs had decided on for the necessary patrols around the Eagle’s Nest and Berchtesgaden. Though the men were disappointed at the lost opportunity to loot, no one complained. No one mentioned her own acquired pieces either, though she did get a few smiles.

After assigning guard duties and OPs, Eve was on the first truck back down the hill from the Nest, the two pieces she'd saved – a Rembrandt etching and a Degas – were gently cradled on her lap.

She spent the bumpy ride mentally organizing the patrol squads that she'd need to comb the woods. No one wanted to take any chances, though she figured they would really just be exercises to keep the men from boredom.

As soon as she disembarked back in town, she tracked down Winters in the OP and set her newest finds aside with the pieces he’d saved for her, tucked away in the corner of the bedroom he obviously intended for her to use. It was utilitarian enough, with a bed and a large desk overlooking a window, complete with a typewriter and a mountain of paperwork.

She hated using typewriters; it made her feel like a feeble female, especially when her hands and fingers started to ache from jabbing at the letters. Surely the army had given her enough muscle that a silly machine should never tire her out? She always had the nagging desire to toss it out the balcony and see if it would bounce or shatter just so she didn't have to use the stupid thing for another second. It was maddening. But it saved more time than it wasted so was spared from her wrath.

Eve put it off for a few minutes, lingering over the delicate artwork she’d gathered – admiring it the way it should always be admired – before resolutely pulling herself away.

Regretting her promotion more than ever, she got started on the backlogged paperwork that had inevitably arrived before anything useful, leaving her door purposefully open to invite distractions in the form of reports or even complaints.

With the tasks she’d set everyone else there were precious few of those distractions. She'd made her way through a sizable chunk of the paperwork, a good two-thirds of the stack, including the necessary forms for shipping home the artwork as loot, before becoming too stir-crazy to take another moment of blurring lines and useless drivel asking her to rationalize each and every decision Easy Company had made, but basically boiling down to a long, never ending list of who got what supplies and why.

She had a brief reprieve when Luz came up and reported that they’d established the various staples of an Army camp, including mess hall, aid station, and post office. She gave him a general idea of where she wanted the various platoons stationed and let the radioman come supply officer do what he was best at.

Four hours later, Eve prudently decided to take a walk before she screamed. Spying the paintings in the corner, she figured she could kill two birds with one stone.

It was the work of a few minutes to find the spare linen closet in the hotel and pilfer some sheets and towels to use as wrappings for the artwork so the frames wouldn't be crushed in the mail. Paperwork in hand, despite nearly forgetting it on her desk, as well as a few of her chocolate bar bribes, she left the stuffy hotel room to pay a visit to Vest.

"Sarge!" the man cried, beaming as she walked in.

Eve smiled and gingerly placed her burden on the counter. "Hello, Vest. Do you think you could ship these things home for me?"

He was nodding eagerly before she'd even finished her sentence. "No problem, Sarge. You got an address?"

Eve handed over the paperwork, and the bribes to make sure her stuff got to the front of the line. Vest grinned at her again and assured her he would take care of everything.

Satisfied, Eve waved goodbye and resigned herself to another few hours of monotony before she'd be able to escape for dinner.

When she got back to the CP, Speirs was still nowhere to be seen, probably still looting the Eagle's Nest, and Eve was loath to resort to disturbing Winters or Lipton, even though she was desperate for a distraction to keep away from the paperwork for just a little longer.

With nothing for it, she steeled herself and got back to work.

Luckily, reports from the patrols started filtering in which was by and far more interesting than the never ending supplies inventory that had absorbed her whole afternoon. It took the edge off the frustration that had been steadily mounting as she typed along that this at least was more interesting than a long string of numbers. It was still incredibly tedious work, especially since she had to slow down and verify each and every letter she touched lest she make some miniscule mistake and have to start over again from the beginning, but she went along with determination. If she got it all done today, she wouldn’t have to do it again tomorrow.

An hour after her break, something finally came along to call her away from her desk. It was Christenson's squad who – once again – made the most exciting discovery. And it was Perconte – once again – who'd come to break the news.

"Sarge?"

"What is it?" she said as she finished punching out the word she was in the middle of, trying to cement what she'd planned to say in her head so she could come back to it. She looked up, hoping her frustration with the stupid contraption wasn't lingering on her face – though she was almost dreading his answer. The last time Perconte had news still haunted her at night.

This time, Perconte was nearly dancing with excitement.

"Sarge, we found something on patrol."

Eve had already guessed as much, and though Perconte didn't seem inclined to share more information, gleefully keeping it a mystery, Eve was completely willing to be lured away from her reports for a little while to see what had put a bee in Perconte's bonnet this time.

She grabbed her helmet and, putting all thoughts of reports on hold, followed the Italian out of the CP and into the sunlight.

A jeep was idling in front of the steps, a beaming Joseph Liebgott at the helm. "Hop in!" he implored.

Eve huffed a laugh at the men's barely concealed impatience and took her time getting situated in the passenger seat just to tease them.

Liebgott barely waited for Perconte to perch on the back seat before he gunned the throttle and peeled out. "You wanna tell her, Perco?" Lieb asked, blithely ignoring the glare the shorter man sent his way.

"It's Goering's house," he announced, forgetting both his irritation and his desire to keep Eve in suspense.

She could feel her eyes widen. Goering was Hitler's number two for most of the war, and one of the Nazis most prolific pilferers. His mansion was a prize akin to the Eagle's Nest itself.

"Was it picked clean?" she asked, anticipating the disappointment of a positive response.

"Nope," pronounced Liebgott, popping the word like a bubble. “Looks like we got here first.”

"We thought you'd like the first crack at it, Sarge," said Perconte, implying it was the whole squad's decision. "There was a lot of art on the walls."

Eve was touched by the gesture. She hadn't told anyone that she was looking for art, though it must’ve been obvious. Her friends had noticed, anyway.

Ahead, the road blossomed to reveal a whitewashed mansion nestled in a glen. Candy striped shutters were thrown open, but the most striking feature was the caved in roof. The house looked like it had been bombed.

Eve's heart sank, fearing for the art collection she knew must be inside.

Liebgott seemed unconcerned as he parked the jeep. Perconte hopped out of the back and made a beeline for the front door. Eve followed at a more sedate pace, much to Liebgott's frustration. She ignored him with the deftness of long practice.

The interior of the grand house actually managed to steal her breath away. She used the familiar motion of removing her helmet as a means of composing herself.

Masterpieces lined the walls. Every artist she could name, and more than a few she couldn't were all crowded together, largely without rhyme or reason with respect to origin or period, just a bizarre amalgamation that was somehow cohesive in a way Eve couldn't possibly describe.

She had no notion how such a blasphemous thing was possible, and yet the evidence was before her. Perhaps the man had just grabbed anything he deemed valuable and thrown it on the walls?

The furniture was all covered in white drop cloths to prevent dust and other debris from landing on the precious wood furnishings. Eve noticed that someone had unveiled a marvelous Greek or Roman statue. The beauty was hunched as though she were being crushed under the weight of the world, but her serene smile put Eve at ease.

"Hey, Ev, what do you think of this one?" asked Liebgott, pulling a painting off the wall.

She went over. "Vermeer,” she said, recognizing the artist. “He was a Dutch painter in the 17th century."

She flipped the frame over in a fit of curiosity and gasped.

"Ev?" Liebgott asked.

Eve ran her fingers over the back of the picture, tracing the curators stamp on the back, deeply familiar with it.

It was like a punch in the gut.

She looked up, tried to speak – she could tell Liebgott was growing increasingly concerned – but she couldn’t, tears spilling down her cheeks as she realized the ramifications of her discovery.

Eve had to clear her throat and try several times before her voice came out. "It's my uncle’s stamp," she said, in pain, knowing it didn’t explain. “He was an art curator in Paris. I went to his house before Bastogne. They were gone and the whole place had been ransacked. Pierre said the whole family had taken into custody for being Jewish. Apparently, it didn’t matter whether they were or they weren’t. There was nothing left. Everything was just gone, they were gone, like they’d been erased.”

It took him only a moment to put together the pieces the same way she had.

“Jewish” art in a Nazi leader's house could only equal one thing.

Her uncle, and his family, had been sent to one of those camps. Falsely accused so Goering and his ilk could steal the art without recourse.

It made a horrible kind of sense. There was no way her uncle, who had loved art so deeply, would have sold the art to someone who was not the right buyer to appreciate it. He would never have been pressured into selling the works at a discounted rate, not even for Nazis.

He’d paid the price for it. God only knew if any of them had survived.

She turned and vomited in a vase probably worth a small fortune.

Liebgott took the art from her hand and patted her on the back while she tried to control her horror.

Well and truly sobbing now, she gasped and forced everything back down into that box of emotions – ever darker – to deal with later.

Horror receding, anger took its place.

She took the artwork back from Liebgott and hung it back on the wall gently, trying to ignore her shaking hands, and missing the hook several times in her agitation.

Finally, she had to let Liebgott rehang it, disgusted with her own ineptitude.

“What can I do?” Liebgott asked, several other questions he wasn’t asking on his face for her to see.

Eve pulled herself together, pushing her personal tragedy down in the face of getting back to work. "Search the rest of the house. I want it under a double guard. I'm going to head back to the CP and get Winters and Lipton. Let's let them decide what to do from here."

-

They found an enormous wine cellar beneath the house – enough to make all of Nixon's dreams come true – and Dog Company found another cache of artwork and priceless artifacts stored in a nearby salt cave. Winters called up the ladder and soon Eisenhower and Bradley were coming to view the collection they'd discovered. The whole of the 101st was given credit for the discovery. It was only then that Eve and the rest of Easy Company learned of the Roberts Commission, an organization that was on the hunt for the stolen Nazi art so they could restore it to its rightful owners.

There were hundreds of paintings and cultural artifacts stored in and around Berchtesgaden and the nearby Hohnstein castle. They were gathered up and processed above Eve's head, even her uncle’s works.

Winters found her an hour after the brass and the press had left Goering's house to see the salt mines. Eve was staring up at the spot she’d taken the Vermeer from the wall, thinking about the family that used to own it and where they were now, if any of them were even still alive.

 _What will I tell my mother?_ she wondered, fighting another bout of tears.

"Ev?"

"Yes, sir?" she said, not turning away even as the major studied her.

"You did a good thing," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Eve sucked in a deep breath through her nose. "It feels like too little, too late," she confided.

"It's never too late," he said.

Eve bowed her head to hide her tears. Liebgott hadn’t told him. “The stamp I recognized was my uncle’s.” She relayed what she’d found in Paris.

Winters listened to the whole tale and didn’t push for more even when tears slipped down her face again.

She wiped at them impatiently. She couldn’t afford to be weak even now.

"Come on," said Winters, steering her away from the wall with the hand on her shoulder. "Let's get some chow."

As the sunlight touched her face, Eve forcefully shook off her grief.

She glanced back towards the house one last time, and let out a huffed laugh that was more a sob than actual laughter when she saw Perconte, guarding the wine cellar.

"What?" said Winters, settling into the driver's seat of his jeep. They were the last to leave aside from the guards still at their posts.

Eve shook her head, clearing her throat of the wet sound. "I was just thinking about Nixon's face when you tell him about that cellar, sir," she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Winters chuckled and put the jeep into gear, leaving the collapsing house behind.

-

The next morning, Eve let herself be dragged from the Company office by an enthusiastic, and slightly drunk, Harry Welsh. The last thing she wanted to do was spend another day inside with only paperwork to distract from her grief.

Welsh was already on his way to intoxicated, with every intention of becoming utterly wasted before the morning was through. Eve might have been concerned, but they were joined by Nixon and Speirs, who were both more-or-less sober.

It wasn't until they'd somehow coaxed her into the jeep that she figured out they were heading for the Eagle's Nest.

"Why?" she asked the men, fairly certain she'd already seen everything interesting the Nest had to offer.

"We're off duty," Speirs smugly informed her.

"We are?" she verified. It was a rare day indeed that both the Company Commander and the First Sergeant were off duty, but she wasn’t willing to question it further.

"We all are," said Nixon, sounding very smug. "So we're going to celebrate!"

Scrutinizing the barely concealed glee on the three Captains' faces, Eve was certain she'd just walked into a trap of some kind.

"We are?" she said again, incredulous this time.

"Yes," confirmed Welsh, still grinning.

Eve squinted at the manic smile adorning Harry's face and decided that he was probably more drunk than she’d guessed.

But there was no arguing with them. _At least I'll be able to keep an eye on them_ , she thought as the jeep got underway.

As she had already guessed, the first thing the men did upon entering the jewel of Hitler's empire was find the abandoned, still unopened, champagne bottles. It became some form of bizarre scavenger hunt, or even a competition to find the most bottles and cart them out to the grand stone patio.

The observation deck wound its way around the outside of the Nest, offering a splendid view of the breathtaking mountain range. The day was warm, and the terrace was furnished with several lawn chairs that were suitably protected from the bitter mountain breezes by a stone railing.

Eve, unable to say no to her friends, let alone her commanders, allowed herself to be tugged along and roped into their shenanigans.

But there was a line.

"No," she said.

Welsh wiggled the bottle in his hand, doing very little for the champagne inside as he tried to entice her. "Come on," he cajoled. "You know you want some."

She glared. "I already said I didn't."

"We'll take care of you, I promise," bartered Nixon, already reclining on one of the deck chairs.

She shot him a glare. "I don't need 'taken care of'. It's not a good idea for all of us to be drunk at once," she reasoned.

Speirs snorted. "Ev, for God sake, loosen up a bit, relax. Nothing is going to happen to you all the way up here."

"On my honor," promised Nixon.

"On my honor," parroted Welsh, still grinning even as he swayed.

Outnumbered, Eve recognized her defeat with a resigned sigh. She swiped the bottle from Welsh's hand and spent a long moment staring at it, quelling her nerves.

It wasn't that she was afraid to drink, or even that she'd never been drunk before – vivid memories of the half forgotten night in Paris at _L'épine de La Rose_ and another even foggier recollection of an evening enshrouded in grief and drink only a few months ago, days before Easy Company stumbled upon the camp – but there were so many other people who’d decided to spend their afternoon drinking, and the Fourth Army was due to roll in at any time. It didn’t seem like a good idea.

"We'll look after you, Ev," said Speirs with grim sincerity she couldn't deny.

Giving in, she took a long pull from the bottle, hoping to satisfy them, but as soon as the familiar sweet taste of good champagne hit her tongue, Eve melted. It was sure a lot better than the tepid beer or a random bottle of cheap wine. It was the good stuff, achingly familiar. It tasted like home.

She deftly ignored Welsh and Nixon's cheering and stole the lawn chair next to Nixon's to enjoy the view.

Honestly speaking, if there was ever a time to celebrate, it was now. Berchtesgaden was the easiest town they'd ever taken – and one of the most significant prizes of the war – with more than enough loot to go around, and plenty of alcohol.

Eve was well aware that most of Easy Company was also spending the day drunk, but here alone on this alcove, with three of the men she trusted most in the world, she felt safe enough to enjoy herself. Safe enough to set aside the pain of losing her uncle once so sharp, and let herself relish the fact that she was alive.

If the alcohol helped dull the pain, well, she wasn’t admitting to it. She’d allow the indulgence just this once, but she knew it would be far too easy to fall into the bottom of a bottle and never come out.

Just this once, she let down her guard.

-

An hour later, Eve was feeling happily tipsy.

She lounged, her boots occasionally nudging Harry Welsh as she laughed – easier now that her cares had lessened for a moment, and took the occasional sip of champagne – still relishing the taste of the good stuff – and listening to Nixon tell terrible jokes he was too drunk to keep straight.

"No, Goddamn it, listen!" cried Nixon, after failing to tell the joke for the third time, counting off on his fingers. "Hitler, Hitler – No."

"You're telling it wrong again," she complained, voice louder than she’d intended because of the alcohol.

Sure, the guys had talked her into drinking, but she was trying to keep it to a minimum, swiping swigs from Speirs and Welsh's neglected bottles rather than guzzling from her own. There was already a line of empty bottles underneath Nixon's chair that was ever growing. As such, she was almost sober – maybe it was closer to ‘less drunk,’ and then only by comparison – when Winters strolled out of the Nest with Lipton, smiling happily when she saw them.

"You don't know how to tell a joke," Welsh complained, so Nixon started again, waving a hand so they would disregard his last attempt. She guessed that Nixon was on his fifth or sixth bottle now. Welsh, who'd already started slightly tipsy, was now definitely three sheets to the wind.

"Hitler, Himmler, Goering, Goebbels, and the Pope walk into a bar," Nixon said, finally getting it.

"That had to hurt," she said, interrupting him. Her filter had long since gone in the wake of the last bottle of champagne she'd split with Welsh.

"Because he drinks too much," rebutted Nixon immediately, flapping a hand at her so she'd shut up, and stop interrupting his joke. "That's how it starts!" he protested as she laughed at him, almost doubling over. “I almost had it that time.”

-

Winters grinned at Lipton when he'd realized what was going on. He started forward just as Ev interrupted Nix's joke, and from his reaction she’d done it a couple times before. She just laughed in response.

It didn't really matter, though, because Harry noticed them. "Hey, Adolf!" the man cried, clapping his hands together as he spotted Winters. "Love your Eagle's Nest!" The man got unsteadily to his feet and clasped the Major into an awkward, drunken hug. "I hope you don't mind, we –"

Winters grabbed Harry to keep him from falling. He shook his head in despair, looking around the group for someone sober. His gaze lingered on Eve, likely his only hope. She was limp and draped bonelessly on the chair Welsh just vacated. She gave him a nod, considerably bigger than she probably would have if she'd been sober, but she had a beaming grin on her face to his relief. She’d seemed so sad yesterday. It was good to see her in better spirits.

Welsh swayed a bit, despite holding onto Winters’s shoulders. He could feel an answering grin bloom on his own cheeks and smiled down at his fellow redhead, now clinging to him like a limpet.

"-we made ourselves at home!" admitted Harry, like it was a grand secret.

"Lieutenant Lipton," said Speirs, also overly loud, maybe feeling a bit left out. Winters glanced to his left in time to see Lipton grin and a nod at the drunken foursome.

"Love what you've done with the place!" continued Harry, slapping Winters on the chest before stooping down to scoop up a bottle from where it had ended up by Eve in a movement so complicated only a man too drunk to know just how unbalanced he was could it pull off.

"Here!" Welsh cried holding his prize aloft. "Have a drink," he cajoled, holding the bottle out to Winters with a grin. "Come on, just so's we can say we saw you do it."

Winters gave Harry an indulgent smile but didn't take the bottle. It had always amused him how the usually feisty man acted so blissfully happy when drunk.

"Listen up," said Winters sternly, tucking away his smile despite the deep feelings of fondness still in his chest – these were some of his favorite people after all, and it was wonderful seeing them so carefree after almost a year of hardship.

He couldn’t wait to share the news. He pulled the official copy of the orders free from his breast pocket, knowing they’d need to actually see it with their own eyes to be satisfied at their validity, much as he had.

He looked around to make sure they were ready for it.

Welsh was still swaying, but had made an attempt to straighten into attention.

Nixon picked up the bottle he was working on and brought it to his lips; when no liquid came out, he looked at the empty bottle dejectedly and set it back down. His free fingers quickly found another bottle which he pulled from instead.

Eve was still giggling quietly, watching Nixon’s antics. Speirs was quietly staring at the bottles that had accumulated at their feet, looking like he was bracing himself for bad news.

"From the Corp, all troops are to stand fast on current positions," announced Winters, watching them carefully.

"Standing fast," said Nixon, reclining.

"What does that mean?" asked Speirs, meeting his eyes.

“How do you stand fast?” asked Eve. “Isn’t standing supposed to be still?”

Welsh snorted a laugh as he tried to stand at attention, head tilted back on his neck and unable to keep the drunken grin from his face as he swayed slightly on the balls of his feet. His badly suppressed laughter made both Winters and Lipton laugh as well.

"Wanna hear it?" asked Winters with a large grin.

Welsh nodded with a hum.

"Mmhmm?" Winters echoed making sure they were ready.

-

Eve had never seen Winters so giddy. Probably because he'd never been giddy drunk in her company, like Welsh was, but it was somewhat puzzling. Why was he drawing out the moment? What could the news possibly be?

Winters clasped Welsh on the shoulder. "Ready for it? Listen up. The German Army's surrendered."

Eve felt her whole body lock up. Her breath froze in her chest, stolen by the mountain air as she tried to process the sentence into something that made sense.

Winters met each of their eyes somberly, so they could see for themselves that he was not joking; so they could absorb the sheer gravity of what he was telling them. They were done. After almost two years of fighting, they were done.

Eve searched his face, and then Lipton's, and then Speirs's and Nixon's – they would know more clearly than she if he was joking.

They didn’t seem to think so.

Winters was serious.

It was over.

The tight knot in her belly dissipated as the news sank in. Giddy relief – more potent than any alcohol – sank into her bones and a new grin stretched across her face.

Winters patted Welsh’s cheek twice in quick succession, beaming at the man’s dumbfounded expression.

Welsh was still processing, brain running slower with all the alcohol clouding it as he looked at the major with wonder.

Eve herself could hardly believe she hadn't imagined the whole conversation. A part of her still couldn't believe it. Three years, one in combat, two preparing endlessly for it, and it was over. How the hell had she survived?

Jesus Christ. It was _over_.

She'd survived.

Winters started to leave, but caught Nixon's attention with a sharp finger.

"I've got a present for you! Come on," he said.

Winters winked at Eve, to her puzzlement. Her eyes narrowed as a thought tugged at her memory. A grin broke on her face as she abruptly recalled what they'd discovered yesterday that might interest an already inebriated Nixon.

Just as quickly, her thoughts cycled back to the news she was still trying to process, trying to make sense of it.

_How can it possibly be over?_

Nixon grabbed his webbing and got up readily enough to follow his friend – not even unsteady despite the obscene amount of champagne he'd inhaled, the bastard – but obviously still dazed by the news. He'd seen it coming; they'd all seen it coming – for Christ’s sake they were at the Eagle's Nest, crown jewel of the Nazi empire! – But it was one thing to realize, and quite another to know.

Eve didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And she wasn't alone. Welsh was still staring, shell-shocked, at Lipton. Speirs had put his head down between his knees, looking dizzy with relief.

"Is it?" asked Welsh, tentatively asking the question they all needed confirmed. Winters wasn’t capable of playing such a cruel joke, but a part of her needed it to be verified, needed someone else to confirm it too, just in case this was all some elaborate dream.

Lipton nodded with a laugh.

"Yeah?" said Welsh. Getting another gleeful nod from Lipton, he pulled the man into a hug, and then turned around to yank Eve onto her feet to give her one. He even went so far as to try and spin her around; it must have been some spectacle since Lipton and Speirs both started laughing uproariously – she was a good four inches taller than Welsh after all. She was laughing too hard herself to care.

Lipton pulled her free from Welsh's grip and gave her his own hug, far more successfully lifting her into a circle; and then Speirs did the same thing. She felt like a ragdoll – and nauseous after being passed around with so much bubbly in her stomach – but she was too deliriously happy to give a fuck.

-

Easy Company spent VE-Day drunk.

Winters had "discovered" Herman Goering's well stocked, and very expensive, wine cellar. After giving Nixon pick of the litter, he had 10,000 bottles delivered to each of second battalion's companies in huge over-laden trucks. Easy Company spent the day of victory sampling some of the finest liquor, wine, and champagne from around the world.

Eve, already tipsy, found herself pressganged into overindulging, by Welsh, Speirs, and the returned Nixon.

Nixon had picked out only the best of the bottles and insisted that she try a little bit of them all.

"Ev," he wheedled when she protested the newest decanter of whiskey, after having already had five. "When are you ever gonna get the chance to taste all this again? Live a little!"

She was drunk enough to give in to the coaxing without much protest. They'd promised to look after her. They’d promised.

So, with not an ounce of remorse, Eve drank her share with everyone else.

Just this once, she allowed herself the freedom to enjoy the party, just enjoy being alive.

Overnight, Easy Company had gone from an aggressive combat unit to an occupational force. No more fighting, no more war.

Some of the replacements lamented the fact that they hadn't even been able to get their ODs dirty. Eve politely told them to shut up and be grateful, goddamn it, but they mostly ignored her and bitched anyway.

She would never remember the precise details of that day, but nor would anyone else.

-

The next morning, Eve dragged herself out of bed despite the (well deserved) splitting headache pounding in her skull. She was standing before she realized that she was in the wrong room, but at least she’d somehow managed to at least make it back to the CP.

She spied Speirs, his head buried under a pillow on the floor in a vain attempt to drown out reveille, and smiled, relieved.

The man must've tipped her into his bed sometime last night, taking care of her as he’d promised.

As she was still in her gear, and thus as ready as she was going to be to assemble, Eve nudged the man into getting up, laughing as he glared up at her, in no little amount of pain from his own hangover.

"Let's go, sir," she said, offering a hand to the prone man.

He sighed like she'd just asked him to run up Currahee and helped lever himself up.

Eve bit her lip and valiantly neglected to mention the fact that Speirs was still in his boxers as he stomped out of the room, not even bothering to lace up his boots properly, just jamming them on his feet.

He wasn't alone in his state of undress, much to her amusement. Nearly the entire company had turned up in their undergarments. After a disgruntled look around, Speirs dismissed them and the Company rolled right back into bed.

-

The rest of the week passed in a similar manner, but Eve didn't participate again. One hangover was quite enough for her, thanks.

Instead, she spent the majority of the week hiding away with Winters – the only other sober person in Berchtesgaden – back to taming the mountainous stack of backlogged paperwork.

Boring though it was, it beat babysitting her drunken company by a mile.

It didn't take long for conversation between herself and Winters to flow as easily as ever, despite the gap between their ranks.

"We're heading to Austria," Winters said one evening.

Eve pulled herself from the report she was reading to blink at the man, registering that he’d said something, but not understanding the words just yet.

"In two days," said Winters, and then quirked his lips in a smile at her sheepish expression. She’d been completely absorbed in the reports. "Just got the orders in. We're heading to Obersalzberg, in Austria."

"Really?" she said. "What happened to standing fast?"

"It's the army," he said with a nonchalant shrug, fighting a grin.

It was as good an answer as any. "What's in Austria?" she asked.

"A German regiment. We're the closest unit, and Colonel Sink has instructed me to accept the surrender of some of the German brass."

"Sounds fun," she said. "Should I get the men ready now?"

"It can wait until tomorrow. Everybody not in their beds already will forget by morning anyway."

Eve laughed. "I guess that includes me. I should probably turn in."

Winters stretched and glanced at his watch. A yawn split his face, brought on by his realization of the late hour.

"Good night, Ev."

"Good night, sir."

Eve slipped out of the room and didn’t let herself dwell on her regret that the distance between their ranks kept them from ever really being friends.

Maybe now that the war was over that would change.

-

The next morning, Easy Company loaded back into the transport trucks and the halftracks and left Berchtesgaden behind.

Eve had tried – and mostly failed – to appreciate the scenery the first time they'd crossed the mountains, but now, in the wake of the German surrender, she looked on it with wide, wonder filled eyes. Had the mountains been so beautiful headed the other way, soured by her anxiety?

 _What a pity I don’t remember_ , she thought trying to absorb the glorious panorama like a sponge and imprint the entirety into her mind. She wanted to recall this instead of the frozen barren waste of Bastogne – when all she could see when she closed her eyes was her friends in pieces.

It was easy to forget the biting frost of winter with the sun warming her face, a gentle breeze tousling her ever growing hair and cooling her scalp. It was a lovely day. The bright sun glittered on the foliage, evoking bright emeralds and jades that turned to deep purple as the forest stretched beyond what the eye could see, upwards to the gray edifices, lightly dusted with snow despite the turning of spring and topped by an ice blue sky sheltering Easy Company from any prying eyes. It could have been claustrophobic if it wasn't so breathtaking.

Surely this was paradise.

The road wound ever upwards again as they headed back into the Alps.

Every so often they passed German troops headed the opposite way. The bedraggled enemy soldiers looked exhausted – defeated – and yet as they marched sedately in tactical columns, heading for Germany, and home, they maintained their pride. Not a single head was bent in shame.

Eve didn't know if these were deserters, or if they'd already surrendered to someone somewhere up the road; either way, Easy Company didn't stop to ask.

Still, there were a hell of a lot of them; and they just kept coming.

Each time Eve's heart demanded that she offer a K-ration to the weary walkers, she steeled herself and remembered her uncle and the camp they’d found at Landsberg. It assuaged her empathy even as she wondered where a particularly haggard soldier – limping along determinedly despite being supported by crutches and only one leg – was heading.

She tried not to think of Guarnere or Toye, but it was difficult not to see her wounded friends in these survivors.

The truck suffered a particularly violent jerk as the tires caught a bump in the road. Thankfully, it yanked her from her thoughts even as it sent her careening into Roe.

He looked amused, much to her irritation. She tried not to scowl at him, but Talbert and Shifty both laughed, so she didn't think she'd succeeded.

"You all right there, Ev?" Talbert asked when he'd stopped laughing at her.

"Just dandy," she informed him, eyes already drawn back to the scenery.

"So," he said, eyeing the scenery himself, "do you reckon they'll make us run up those? Or ski down them?"

"Your lips to God's ears, Tab," said Eve. "Do us all a favor and shut up before you give Speirs any ideas?"

"Yeah," said Shifty, "If we end up running up those, I'm blamin' you."

The young man didn't hide his own awe at the peaks though. Shifty’s entire face was alight with boyish excitement. Eve would've laughed if she didn't know the same wonder was etched on her own features.

As the sun reached its zenith, the sky turned into a bright robin's egg blue, dotted with fluffy white pillow-like of clouds, slowly rolling through the sky like great barges wading through the ocean, pierced and framed by the sharp granite monoliths planted among bejeweled fields wreathed in trees.

It should be a crime to race past such splendor the way Easy was; it left an ache in Eve's breastbone as she tried to savor every moment of being in a panoramic utopia. Each turn offered something new for her to wonder over. Each time Eve thought she’d seen the best of the world, that there was no earthly way anything she could see next would ever compare, she was forced to revise the opinion.

Finally, she understood the appeal of traveling through Europe. It had been hard to fathom people coming here for recreation when she'd everything she’d seen of the continent had been torn to pieces.

And suddenly, around another turn in the road, there were women – beautiful blonde haired women, with bright blue eyes and well-fed, hourglass figures. Coming up from working in the fields, they shouted " _Hallo_!" to the excited American boys; most of whom were waving back with enthusiasm.

Eve rolled her eyes as these war hardened, combat veterans turned back into schoolboys at the first sight of pretty girls. Even Roe got involved, shyly waving as he, and the other men seemed to realize that it wouldn't be fraternizing with the enemy anymore, now that the war was officially over and there was no more enemy to be had.

The sight of willing women seemed to drive home that they were done fighting in a way that the booze really hadn't.

As their antics became increasingly ridiculous, Eve realized that she felt indulgent, not jealous as she'd assumed she would.

It had been so long since she’d become one of them that she couldn’t even imagine herself with any of them – not even Winters, despite her one time crush.

It wasn't that Eve didn't love the boys, she did – she'd die for them, and knew they'd do the same, but after living with them for three years, without any notion of privacy, depending on each other for survival had eliminated every mystery, had drawn them closer than siblings. She certainly didn’t know Eliza as well as she knew Gene. There was no comparison to be had. She trusted Gene with every part of herself, she’d had to to survive everything they’d seen, everything they’d done.

With that in mind, it was incomprehensible that they would ever look at her the way they were lusting after these Austrian dames – just as she would never look at them.

It had been her goal once – a lifetime ago when this journey had just begun – to blend in with the other soldiers; for the men to forget that she wasn't one of them, that she wasn't just another one of the boys. And she’d never realized how completely she’d managed until right this moment.

It had been three years – years which felt like several small lifetimes as parts of her died and were born in the face of war – since she'd desired a man, or wanted to be desired as a woman.

Smiling, happily being ignored as a potential female companion, she let them have at it.

The small part of her that was envious of these well-done ladies wasn’t as easily silenced. Seeing them, perfectly coifed and clean made her long for home anew. She was far cleaner – by comparison –than she'd been even a month ago, but she was a long way away from baths every day and time to waste primping and agonizing over her outfit choice and her hair and her makeup, not that she’d ever indulged in these things overmuch even when she’d had the time. The lack of any options made getting ready in the morning as easy as waking up and rolling to her feet, but a part of her missed being able to make the decision to dress up and be acknowledged as a woman.

She thought she might like to do that more often once she got home. Maybe. She knew it was okay to want to feel pretty and be acknowledged. Sure, she’d never be the beauty that Elizabeth was, but she wouldn’t be dressing up for anyone but herself anyway.

Eve shoved the thought away with a smile at her own folly. Still, a deep realization struck her.

 _I’m happy_ , she knew. The kind of happy that’s hard won – a quiet serenity gained with the absolute certainty that she'd made the right choice – and was pleased with the outcome. She couldn't imagine being anywhere other than right where she was, grimy ODs and all.

-

Winters sat as rigidly as he knew how at the utilitarian desk pulled into the center of a sunlit hall, Welsh and Nixon flanking him on either side as he surveyed the Nazi officers standing before him.

Colonel Sink liked the hotel in Berchtesgaden so much that he'd directed Winters to secure the one in Zell am See. The small Austrian town was perched over a glorious lake – which was such a deep shade of emerald, it put the trees to shame.

The hotel in town was just as elegant as Berchtesgaden Hof, though perhaps a bit less austere. It seemed only fitting that this white room, full of style and class was where Winters set up a desk to accept the formal surrender of the German high command.

Today, it was a Colonel and his aide.

The man had obviously gone to some effort in presenting himself. His uniform was clean and pressed, his tow-colored hair gleamed in the ample sunlight almost as brightly as his polished medals. Winters to meet the man's eyes evenly, twin chips of ice staring down a ruler straight nose and met his gaze. The man didn’t sneer, didn’t show any hint of upset at being asked to surrender to an officer of junior rank to himself.

The Colonel had introduced himself, some long, incomprehensible name Winters couldn’t really remember, and then began to speak in barely accented English.

"I wonder, what will happen to us, to people like you and me, when there are finally no more wars to occupy us?" remarked the Colonel.

Winters couldn't find anything to say. It had been a long time since he'd left for war. And some days, it seemed like he'd been fighting all his life – like it was what he was meant to do. But his heart, his heart cried for peace.

It was no way to live, waking up each day wondering which of his friends was going to go where he couldn't follow.

How many men had he seen die in front of him?

 _Far too many_ , he thought as faces flashed before his eyes between blinks.

Winters longed for nothing more than an easy life, with a woman he loved, and an end to anything even remotely like the constant fear of war.

He kept his face smooth by force of will. He wondered if the comment was meant to wound him as deeply as it had. He knew he was nothing like this colonel, nothing at all like a man who needed war – and all the needless bloodshed it entailed – to occupy him.

"Have all your men collect the weapons, deposit them at the church, the school, and at the airfield," Winters instructed instead of making a direct reply.

The Colonel blinked, and then gave a small smile, understanding. "Very well," the man said and pulled out his sidearm, a Luger, and presented it to Winters, handle first. "Please accept this as my formal surrender, Major."

Winters stared at the gun, remembering all the trouble the hunt for a prized Luger had brought to Easy Company and countless others, and could not make himself take it. They were plentiful now that they were in Germany and he needed no war prizes from this man.

He looked up and found himself pinned again by the colonel's chilling stare. "It is better than to lay it on the desk of a clerk," said the Colonel, voice filled with hard-earned pride. Pride earned from the heft of the sacrifices of the men he’d commanded.

 _Maybe we aren't so different after all,_ thought Winters.

Winters stood, balancing the equation of power, and addressed the man, feeling his own respect for the defeated colonel renew. "You may keep your sidearm, Colonel," he said, glancing at it again before meeting the man’s eyes.

The German officer was surprised but gave a small smile – understanding without the need for speech the measure of respect Winters was offering him – and tucked the gun away again. He clicked his heels, his aide a beat behind, and saluted in the American style, his right hand touching his brow, instead of the famous Nazi extended arm.

Winters responded in kind, feeling for the first time since Landsberg that peace between enemies was possible.

-

On the other side of the room, Eve observed the mutual respect between officers and felt like she was witnessing something monumental.

It was like watching two titans, two mountains, nod at each other, acknowledging each other's might and giving the respect each was owed. These two powerful men had held the lives of thousands in their hands, and here they were, in the same room, civilly carrying on a conversation, violence forgotten (or at least pushed aside) as they discussed peace.

A knot in Eve's breast, right behind her lungs, that she hadn't even acknowledged, loosened and dissipated.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Updates are every Thursday.


	53. Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Nazi Germany surrendered. The war in Europe is over. 
> 
> "Prepare for the unknown by studying how others in the past have coped with the unforeseeable and the unpredictable." - George S. Patton
> 
> "We are going to have peace even if we have to fight for it." - Dwight D. Eisenhower
> 
> Now: Easy Company becomes an occupying force as they get ready to face the Pacific.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Beta's: FandomlyCroft, Atman, and Laura001. I couldn't have done it without you guys. Any remaining errors are mine.

-Chapter 53-

_"Heroic dead of a combined Army and Marine force mark the grim battlefield of Okinawa, where one of the bloodiest engagements of the war is being fought."_

It was evening now in Zem al Zee, and rather than rerunning the same Rita Hayworth or Marlene Dietrich movies that had been playing over and over again, the officer in charge of the projector played a newsreel from the Pacific front.

It was startling to realize that the fighting was still going on, that men were still dying in droves for tiny scraps of land in the Pacific in order to avenge Pearl Harbor, especially in light of the peace Easy Company had enjoyed for almost a month now.

Eve knew the intention behind playing the newsreels. The brass needed Easy Company and the rest of the 506 to get back in the mindset of waging war. It was all but certain that Easy Company was bound for the Pacific now that the war was over in Europe.

She dreaded it. As bad as it was here, Eve couldn't imagine fighting an enemy with no ties to the Geneva Convention whatsoever. At least European warfare was relatively civilized. These countries had been fighting each other over the same ground for the last thousand years. Though the antiquated nonsense of grand shows of force, lining up neatly on a great field of battle, had been all but eradicated in the wake of the Great War, there was still a certain code of conduct obeyed by both sides when fighting. Like medics being “off-limits”. Sure, there were some people who broke those rules, but overall the code was observed.

The Japanese clearly respected no such code.

As the grisly images played across the screen, Eve stood firm in her spot near the back, behind Lipton and Welsh, just next to Speirs. She could have gained a chair, but she could barely stand still watching this, let alone sit. She clenched her hands to keep them from trembling and straightened her spine. From the glance Speirs shot her, she wasn't fooling anyone with her desperate bid for composure.

_"Thousands of Yanks have been wounded, and other thousands have sacrificed lives."_

Soldiers ran by on the film, bearing a stretcher between them. It was a familiar scene. She could vividly remember Bill, Toye, and Jackson on their respective stretchers, as the bearers raced them back to a waiting jeep, on to a hospital, hopefully onward to safety.

Her knees started to buckle, but Speirs – somehow sensing it – gripped her shoulder to hold her steady. Eve absorbed some of his strength, his calm, and was able to swallow the bile, suppress the memories.

Nixon snuck into the room, sidling into space beside her, in front of Winters. Eve thought idly in the back of her mind that Nixon could find Winters blind if he wanted to; they just always seemed to know where the other was. The smile the thought induced settled her back into reality. He shot her a concerned glance, eyeing Speirs’s hand still on her shoulder, but didn’t comment.

_"Along the Japs' southern defense line, the Yanks progress slowly, facing one of the fiercest artillery barrages of the war."_

Eve suppressed a snort of disbelief, or maybe it was horror that stole her breath. She'd survived the barrages of Bastogne where the trees exploded into wooden pikes, raining death down on the men below. Where guys were men one second and dust the next. Every waking and sleeping moment spent flat on the ground, not even capable of building a fire to keep warm in the icy temperatures for fear that doing so would bring death to her and her friends, even as they froze in their sleep. She couldn't wrap her head around any barrage that could have been worse.

And yet, here it was, playing in vivid, gruesome detail before her eyes.

_"Each small advance is gained by sheer grit, in the face of withering fire from a suicidal enemy being slowly hammered back into the hills."_

The film showed an American soldier wielding a flamethrower.

Eve hadn't had much occasion to encounter them with Easy, but the thought of them, and the thought alone, made her want to gag. After Landsberg, she didn't think she would ever get the stench of burning human bodies out of her nose, it was lodged so deeply in her brain.

She couldn't imagine a more terrible way to die than being burnt to death.

_"The going is brutal, and our casualties are high."_

Gruesome figures of thousands wounded shook Eve's spine.

Easy had already lost so many men. How many more wouldn't even make landfall in the Pacific? She still remembered the terror of jumping into the unknown, the high possibility of landing in a tree to be skewered by Krauts before even getting out of her parachute. The great balls of fire the C-47s became as they dropped from the sky, dozens of men trapped inside, plummeting to their deaths.

It was an inevitability of being a paratrooper. Some poor bastards weren’t even going to make it to the ground.

_"But Okinawa is the next big step towards victory over Japan, a victory that can only be won by work, war bonds, and heroic sacrifice."_

And then, without further warning, the film was over.

The lights came up.

Eve took a deep breath to center herself, rolling her shoulders to shake off the tension, inadvertently shaking off Speirs’s comforting hand.

Some men stood up and left the room immediately. Eve lingered long enough to follow Spiers as he turned to wait for the officers and their orders.

She blinked in surprise, nonplussed. Nixon was drinking coffee out of one of the smallest teacups Eve had seen in a long time. It looked positively dainty and so incongruous with Nixon that it broke through her lingering tension completely.

"So," said Speirs as he came level with Winters, pulling her abruptly back to the reality of their situation. "When are we going?"

"We don't have a date yet," said Winters, confirming her fears.

They were going, it was all but decided. The Brass only had to push through a jump mission for them and they’d be off to the other side of the world. The fronts were so separate they may as well have been different wars.

A part of her wanted to get it over with, to put aside the long, agonizing wait they'd had in Aldbourne between Normandy and Holland and just jump back into battle. It had been a long, bittersweet time, where every day was tainted by the overshadowing dread that this was it, they were finally going back to war, back to Hell. She’d rather just get it over with, without the agony of suspense.

"Are we to tell the men right away?" Speirs asked.

Winters nodded. "Some of them will have enough points to go home instead."

Points had become all anyone wanted to talk about recently. A man needed eighty-five points to go home. Points were awarded based on time served – one point per month with an additional point for months overseas, medals awarded – five points each but only if the award was on the accepted list, and circumstances back home – twelve points for having a child under eighteen years old.

"Not many if their only medal's a Purple Heart," said Nixon.

Eve winced. That was most of the men, even the veterans.

Winters nodded his acknowledgement again. "I think most of us here will have enough."

He met Eve's eyes. She knew she was one of those borderline cases. She didn't know how many points she had been awarded exactly, but she was nearly certain she didn't have the same amount of points that these officers did.

"And each of us will have to decide what to do," Winters said as he led them out of the room, the other soldiers politely standing back to allow their group through the door unimpeded as he gave his officers orders. "I don't know how long we're waiting here for orders," he called behind him as they filed out the door. Eve fell into line behind Speirs at a wave of Harry's hand.

"But I want those veterans who are staying," continued Winters, stopping just outside the door as his officers circled around him, "and all new replacements ready to fight. That means rifle ranges," he met Speirs's eyes. "That means daily close order drills. That means troop reviews," he met Eve's. "But above all, that means physical training." Eve could already hear the complaints she was going to have to endure from the men at the order. "Get your NCOs on it," he said and walked away.

"They're gonna love you," quipped Nixon.

"Could have been Sobel," said Eve.

"Hi-Ho Silver," countered Winters from ahead.

They laughed, pretending the mood was lighthearted, as they headed off to prepare for war, again.

-

"Sixty points! Do you believe that?" griped Malarkey.

The redhead and Eve were catching up over lunch in the mess hall. The room was practically deserted, all but a few stragglers, dotting the benches, had already finished eating some time ago. The only sound out of the kitchen was the clanging of washing up, food had ceased production some time ago, but the companions were content to linger despite their now cooled food. It honestly tasted no worse cold than it had when it was served at room temperature a few hours ago, though it certainly hadn't improved.

Eve slurped the congealed mess from her spoon. The sign had claimed they were serving spaghetti, but the noodles crunched every other bite, and the sauce was more water than tomatoes.

She was listening to Malarkey as he ranted about the most recent gossip from Second Platoon. It had been far too long since Eve had had a chance to shoot the shit and check in on her platoon. But Malarkey was incensed by the allotment of points that had been handed out, to one Shifty Powers in particular.

"Shifty saved us in Bastogne, remember? He spotted that cannon because he memorized where all the trees were supposed to be. That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I mean, the guy's the best shot in the Company _and_ he's been with us since Toccoa. If anyone deserves to go home, it's Shifty."

Eve agreed wholeheartedly. It was a sorry state of affairs that veterans from D-Day, who'd made it through Bastogne and Market Garden and been on the front for almost the whole damn war, couldn't go home.

She swallowed an unpleasantly crunchy bite, turning an idea over in her head before she said, "You know they're holding some kind of ceremony next week, to remember D-Day? One year anniversary and all that.”

It was a strange feeling, knowing she’d spent a year at war. A year of her life that could’ve been spent back home with her family but for one stubborn decision, albeit one she couldn’t bring herself to regret. She just had to make her peace it. It was a far easier task here, amidst the gorgeous scenery, than it would have been if they were still trapped in a place like Bastogne, where misery and terror were close companions with death and seemed to haunt them all.

She shook off her melancholy thoughts to return to the matter at hand: getting Shifty home. "General Taylor is holding a lottery to send someone home, one man from each company."

Malarkey's eyes lit up in glee. "Anyone?"

Eve nodded. "Even a replacement could win it."

"Would you go? If you won?" asked Malarkey.

"No," she said gently in the face of his badly concealed worry. But she’d already made her decision. She had the points to go, but she couldn’t. Not if her guys weren’t going home.

"Eve," he begged, using her full name, pleading with her. "You've seen the newsreels. The Pacific is a different war. The rules are different. The Japs are fighting dirty. What happens if you…"

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

She touched his hand and found his concerned brown eyes, seeing all the people they'd lost lurking there, and his genuine fear that she'd be among them.

"I've come too far to turn back now," she told him as gently as she could, her heart breaking as his face fell in despair. "I won't let you guys go without me."

He sighed heavily, opening his mouth to try to talk her out of it before he reconsidered and nodded to Eve’s relief.

She hoped that if he'd learned anything from serving with her, it was that Eve did exactly what she wanted to.

"As for Shifty," she said, leaning in with a mischievous look in her eyes. "I have an idea."

-

"Captain Speirs?"

Speirs looked up from the avalanche of ink he’d been trying to muscle through to find his First Sergeant lurking in his doorway.

He’d sent her off to lunch about an hour ago and was honestly surprised to see her back so soon. Though he secretly hoped she was coming with some news that would pull him away from his own paperwork, the vague guilt on her face told him that she had another reason for being here.

Concerned, he pushed away from his desk and gave the woman his full attention.

“What can I do for you, Ev?” he asked, using the moniker the men often used with her.

“Sir,” she said, straightening. “It’s about the lottery planned for the ceremony tomorrow.”

Speirs looked at her, keeping his expression blank. He and the other officers – Welsh, Nixon, Lipton, even Winters – had planned to rig the lottery to send the woman home, to at least give her the option of bowing out of the fight in the Pacific. If she chose to gift the pass to someone else, there was nothing they could do, but Eve was too important to Easy Company to send into another war. Not the kind of war the Japs were fighting. If the newsreels said it was bad, it was probably far worse than that.

It wasn’t out of a lack of respect either. Everyone knew that Eve would fight with them side-by-side no matter who the enemy, but she didn’t have to. Better send her home than to risk her in yet another war. She’d more than earned a chance to go home.

“What about it?” he asked, wondering if she’d somehow gotten wind of it and had come to argue them out of it.

“A lot of the guys are really pulling for Shifty Powers to be the one to go home,” she said.

Speirs blinked and frowned. “Shifty Powers?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Word is he only has sixty points. He’s never been injured, sir.”

Speirs looked at the woman, really looked, and knew that even if she won that pass home, she would never take it. She was too stubborn by half. If they rigged it for Eve to win, she’d just give the pass over to Shifty regardless. It wasn’t as though Shifty wasn’t deserving of it like some of the replacements who’d barely gotten their feet wet.

"I'll see what I can do, Sergeant,” conceded Speirs.

Eve saluted him and left, likely headed back to her own avalanche of ink.

Speirs leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp as he went.

He already knew they were going to rig it in Shifty’s favor now. It was what Eve wanted anyway.

Now he just had to persuade the others.

-

The next morning Easy Company assembled in a courtyard, standing proudly in their pristine dress greens.

Eve stood with First Platoon, just in front of Martin and next to Roe in her place as First Sergeant as she listened to Speirs growl out orders, following them with the precise snap that had been drilled into her until she bled with it all those years ago.

"At ease," said Speirs, losing his growl as the men fell into position as sharply as anyone could ask. "General Taylor is aware," he said, pitching his voice so it carried throughout the entire courtyard they were using. "That many veterans, including Normandy veterans, still do not have the eighty-five points required to be discharged. On this, the anniversary of D-Day, he has authorized a lottery, to send one man home in each company, effective immediately."

Eve walked forward, a helmet in her hands and presented it to Lieutenant Welsh.

Welsh dug around in the helmet for several seconds before pulling out a piece of paper and passing it over to Speirs with a covert smile. Eve kept her return smile from her face as she walked back to her position, hiding the empty helmet in her hands.

"For Easy Company," announced Speirs, pausing to raise the anticipation. "The winner is serial number: 13066266, Sergeant Darryl C. Powers."

A congratulatory cheer went up among the men, some catcalls and whistling joining the fray as well. Everyone in the company liked Shifty. He was a good man.

Eve could see him smiling like a loon from where he stood behind Speirs with the Color Guard.

"Sergeant Grant will see to it that Second Platoon takes over at the crossroads checkpoint, beginning tonight at 2200 hours. General Taylor has also announced that the 101st Airborne Division will definitely be redeployed to the Pacific."

Every smile that was on a face, vanished.

"So," continued Speirs, "beginning tomorrow at 0600 hours, we will begin training to go to war."

 _Again_ , Eve thought in the silence that followed that statement.

She wondered, as she looked at the men, whether or not these replacements knew what they were in for. The good ones, the ones who'd come in early and already blended in so well they were nearly as revered as Toccoa guys – like Heffron and Hashey – knew the score. They knew what kind of hell was coming their way and they knew they needed to work harder than ever to prepare for it. They knew they had to be the best, as good as or better than the guy next to them, so they didn’t get their friends killed.

These newest replacements were in for one hell of a wakeup call if they weren't prepared to do the same.

Eve would see to it personally.

-

It was late afternoon about a week later and Eve was hiding. She'd escaped – more like abandoned – her now dwindling paperwork to bask in the afternoon sunlight and enjoy the lake.

Easy Company had finished their drills for the day about an hour ago. It looked like Easy was going to spend the summer here in this "alpine paradise."

At least it wasn't the blistering hot volcano rocks of the Pacific islands they were bound for. Thank God for small mercies.

Speirs was harder on the newest members than he was on the veterans – who could be trusted to know their business in battle – but training was never easy.

If they were going back to war, she wanted to savor what little time she had left out of it, not spend it stuck behind a desk doing paperwork that could wait.

She'd stretched out on the hotel’s back staircase, letting her back rest against the red iron railing which had been warming for hours just waiting for her to absorb the heat, and luxuriating at the juxtaposition between the metal at her back and the cool concrete under her.

It wasn't the padded seat from her office, and for that she was grateful.

The lake glistened like a multifaceted emerald in the sparkling sun, a jewel unparalleled, in Eve's humble opinion. The greenery and the soaring rock edifices adorning it still looked like paradise to her eyes.

Eve did her best to let the sunlight soak into her skin and remain here, rather than be drawn back by the stench of blood and gunpowder that tried to clog her nose as the last year tried to overwhelm her again.

"There you are!"

Eve tried to pretend that she hadn't jumped a foot in the air. "Captain Welsh," she said, back ramrod straight as she debated trying to stand and salute, honestly, grateful for the interruption.

The grin splitting Welsh’s face, and Captain Nixon’s behind him, meant that this was a friendly visit, not her superiors coming to reprimand her for slacking off.

She couldn’t help but grin in response, settling back down as the gentlemen took seats on the stairs both above and below her perch.

"How many times, Ev," chided Welsh, "do I have to tell you to call me Harry? It's not that hard."

She smiled. "Well, I wouldn't want to be accused of insubordination."

"We wouldn't want that to happen," commented Nixon. "What brings you out here?"

Eve shrugged. "Just getting away from paperwork; appreciating the view."

"It is a nice view," agreed Welsh, as though he was just noticing it for the first time.

Nixon took a cigarette out of his pocket. The clink of his lighter, the quick breaths he took to get the smoke started and the sweet acidic smell of tobacco, all things she’d never thought she would appreciate let alone find comfort in, now firmly reminded her that she wasn't alone.

He passed the cigarette to Harry and started another one for himself. Jokingly, he offered the new one to Eve for a puff. She shook her head at his grin when she refused. She was one of the few who hadn't succumbed to the intoxicating feeling of release that the men claimed cigarettes brought them. Almost everyone in Easy Company had taken up smoking at some point during the war. Every time Eve tried it, she started coughing. Figuring it was her body's way of telling her not to smoke, she’d given up on trying to "get used to it" for the sake of appearances.

They sat together for a while, the boys enjoying their cigarettes while Eve went back to enjoying the view, dark thoughts of the past becoming distant now that she was in their company.

It was a long time before anyone spoke again.

"You figure out what you're gonna do yet, Ev?" Nixon asked, breaking the silence.

Eve hummed, pulling her thoughts down from the clouds. There was only one topic he could be referring too, the same one everyone else had spent weeks going over with no end in sight.

"Winters told me I have enough points to go home, but –" here she took a breath. "– it just doesn't seem right to abandon them now. I'd rather stay with Easy." Seeing their solemn faces at this declaration, she smiled. "Besides, what would happen to my reputation if I came home early?" she teased.

It fell flat.

They both knew that she had started one hell of a shit-storm when the campaign to send her home from Belgium ended with her refusal. There was no way the press had all been good. With her decision, she had all but ruined her chances of slipping back into society quietly.

Nixon nodded, but didn't share the thoughts lurking behind his eyes. "What about you, Harry?" he asked their unusually quiet friend.

Harry sighed. "I've made up my mind, Nix, I got the points, I'm going back to Kitty."

"Harry," said Nixon, teasing smile darting around his mouth. "Do you really think that Kitty hasn't run off with some 4F by now?"

They all shook with laughter. "Son of a bitch," said Harry with a grin. "That's not even funny."

The door to the hotel squeaked as it swung open, thudding closed after it had released Winters from inside. Eve turned to smile at the major as he made his way down the stairs to join them. She was glad to see him. It was good he was making time to join them despite being even more inundated with paperwork than she was, even with Lewinski there to help him.

"Harry, ignore him," said Winters, walking down several steps to stand level with his friends.

Eve pulled her legs in to allow him to pass. Nixon did not just to irk his friend.

"How am I supposed to tell her I had the chance to go home finally and decided not to so I could go jump on Tokyo?" continued Welsh.

"All right," said Nixon, "so don't tell her."

Eve rolled her eyes. "She'd find out one way or another, women always do. Lying to Kitty is not a good idea, Harry," she argued, using his name on purpose.

He laughed, agreeing.

"Besides," said Nixon, pushing his point despite Eve’s interruption. "She's waited for you for three years, right? We'll be to Tokyo and back in two years, three tops."

"Don't get your hopes up," said Eve. "Besides, there are not a lot of people who can put their life on hold for five years waiting for somebody. Sometimes the pieces just don't fit any more."

Eve winced when she realized that she might be incidentally prodding on a sore spot for Nixon, whose wife had decided to divorce him so recently, not to mention everyone else who was longing for home and scared it wouldn’t live up to their imagination any more.

She pushed on to keep the sentiment from lingering. "Besides, Kitty seems like too good a woman for you to let her go without a fight. I'd like to meet her someday," she said wistfully.

"You got it, Ev," Harry agreed with a grin before teasing in kind, "as long as you promise not to scare her off."

Eve laughed but offered no such promise. Kitty had to be one hell of a woman to put up with Harry Welsh for all these years by choice. Eve adored the man, but she couldn't imagine sharing a life with him.

His face became somber. "It'll probably be over before you even get there," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

"Is that optimism, Harry?" she asked.

"Shut up," he chuckled. "I'm serious. The reality is that you guys are going to sit here in Austria for six months waiting to go, and I'm going to be back in Willsbury, making babies."

Eve didn't miss the look shared between Winters and Nixon above her head and felt her stomach sink.

"You didn't tell 'em?" said Winters, rejoining the conversation.

The tone in his voice confirming the tight feeling in Eve's gut.

"No, I couldn't get 'em to shut up," said Nixon.

"What, tell us what?" asked Harry.

"Guts and Glory here applied for a transfer," said Nixon, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"What?" asked Harry, turning to face Winters.

Eve studied the man's face, eyes sharp. Winters was leaving them? After everything they'd been through together, he was going to leave Easy?

"13th Airborne are heading out for the Pacific right away," he said, a grim look on his face even as he tried to be reassuring in his tone.

Eve traded a bewildered look with Welsh, not quite sure she was hearing correctly. Surely, the man who fought so hard with them wouldn't abandon them on the eve of battle in the Pacific? He'd be a fantastic leader no matter where they put him, but he belonged with Easy, where he knew the men and they knew him and respected him in kind.

They knew no matter what, that Winters had their best interest in mind. He wasn't one for overconfidence either, despite some of the ballsy moves they'd executed and pulled off over the last year. Part of that was his natural gift for understanding the best way to attack a problem, the other part was his understanding of the men, and their capabilities, which was equally as important as their understanding and faith in him.

Eve didn't want to jump anywhere without Winters on the ground to lead them.

"If I'm going," Winters said softly, "I wanna get it over with."

That at least was logic she could respect. She remembered all too well the anxiety they'd all felt in Aldbourne, where they were constantly on pins and needles awaiting mission after scrapped mission until they finally jumped into Holland, despite the disaster that it was.

She was already struggling with the edge of anxiety. She couldn’t imagine another three or four months waiting to be called up to jump over and over again once more.

"Are you in on this too?" demanded Harry, looking at Nixon.

"Ah, I can't let him go by himself," said Nixon. "He doesn't know where it is."

Harry laughed, though it sounded sad.

"Well, at least he won't be going off by himself," said Eve, genuinely relieved that Winters was going with Nix. It didn't seem right, one without the other. "Forgive me for saying it, sir, but you tend to run off half-cocked more often than makes me comfortable. At least now, Nix’ll be there to pester you for it."

Nixon and Winters snorted, even as the redhead protested futilely. They all knew it was true regardless.

And then Harry said what they'd all been thinking: "You're leaving the men?"

Winters met Welsh's eyes, and then Eve's. "They don't need me anymore."

 _Bullshit_ , Eve thought but was too polite to say.

She let him keep his delusion, it was kinder than pointing out how much Easy Company relied on Winters. She knew him well enough to know that if he didn't genuinely believe that the men were in good hands, he wouldn't leave them. She wondered if Speirs was planning to stay, and resolved to ask him tomorrow.

But if he did go, it could mean great things for Winters's career in the army. He might even become a Colonel like Sink, in charge of his own regiment or division. She wasn't sure that was what Winters wanted, but he was the kind of man who was desperate to be useful. And that was something that she could understand and respect very much; it was what had driven her to join the Army in the first place.

A random thought struck her as she imagined Winters no longer a member of the Screaming Eagles. The thought, half-cocked, popped out of her mouth. "Isn't the 13th Airborne emblem a flying unicorn? You're leaving the Eagles for a Unicorn?"

Nixon laughed, coughing up the smoke he'd just inhaled as Winters ducked his head and then swatted at her.

"What?" she said. It wasn't _that_ ridiculous, but her confusion just set the men off again laughing long and heartily.

Nothing more was said for a long while.

Eve mulled over Winters's decision. A part of her echoed his sentiment. If she was going to go, she might as well get it over with and get over there rather than twiddle her thumbs here. But joining another unit meant starting over from scratch. She remembered all too well the long fight she had to get the men to respect her. She had no guarantee another unit would welcome her like Easy had, and part of her didn't want them to. Eve had known for a long time that she wanted to be an Eagle until she died and she wanted to do it with her friends.

It dawned on her that these men, these dear friends probably wouldn’t be together again for a long while, if ever, if everything went as Winters hoped it.

She warred with herself over whether or not to ask the question buzzing through her head and finally decided now was as good a time as any. Better to get it over with and then leave them alone for a while.

"So," she said, shattering the silence, "when are you leaving?"

"Eager to get rid of me, Buchanan?" said Winters with a smile.

"No, sir," she said, stretching to make sure that her leg, which had fallen asleep at some point, was starting to wake up. "I just wanna know when the riot's going to start. The men will be awfully sad to see you go. I will too." She remembered all too well the last time Easy was about to go into combat without Winters, and the mutiny the NCOs had offered Colonel Sink to keep him with them. She hoped she could at least head that off at the pass with Speirs in command.

Winters nodded, ducking his head. "I meet with the General tomorrow."

"Good luck, sir," she said, meaning it with all her heart.

If he wanted to go, she certainly wasn't going to stand in his way or waste her breath trying to convince him otherwise. It hadn't worked on her and she was certain it wouldn't work on Winters and it would be hypocritical to try.

His heart was set on going. She understood that better than anyone.

Standing, Eve shook his hand. "I hope things work out," she said, wishing him luck.

She left them, hoping to give the three men, who'd grown so close, a bit of privacy so they could say goodbye and savor their last moments together.

Five days later, Winters quietly informed her that the General had decided to deny his request to transfer.

Eve could see his disappointment and clasped him on the shoulder, saying, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir.” Despite being personally grateful that Winters was sticking around, she knew how much the rejection must’ve stung. “You were probably overqualified for the position anyways.”

"Thanks," he said, touching her shoulder as he headed back to the CP.

"Sir?" she called, halting him. When he turned back, she added: "I'm glad you're still with us, sir, even though you deserve the promotion the transfer would have given you."

He nodded and continued inside.

Eve put the conversation aside and got back to work. She needed to find Liebgott, Webster and Skinny. Speirs had a mission for a three-man squad. An informant had come forward this morning with the location of a Nazi Commandant responsible for a camp just like Landsberg.

Liebgott had personally asked her to put him on any assignments involving bringing the people responsible for those death camps to justice, should they ever come up.

Though she didn’t think it was the best idea to send him out – Joe hadn’t finished grieving over what he’d seen in that camp, couldn’t get over his part in telling them they were to be locked back up like animals, corralled until they could be looked after – she’d given her word.

She hoped he would find some closure on this mission. She hoped the team didn't come back even more shattered.

She was waiting for them when the jeep pulled back into town.

It looked bad. Rather than find closure, as she’d hoped they would, the three men had instead returned angrier than ever.

Whatever had happened out there hadn’t helped any of them in the least.

She gripped the back of Skinny's neck in what amounted to an embrace as he tried to pull himself together to report his shot that killed the fleeing German. Webster looked on, his apathy starkly foiling his guilt and grief. Liebgott didn’t speak at all.

"Come on, boys," she said. "Let's go find you some hot chow."

They followed her like lost ducklings to the mess hall.

Halfway through a hot meal, Webster got up to go report to his assignment at the checkpoint. She watched him go, and tried not to worry.

Less than twenty minutes later, Eve met the ambulance with Speirs and Webster, a medic and a surgeon there as well.

She couldn't believe it. Some asshole hadn't bothered to secure a barrel to the back of his fucking truck and now Janovec was dead.

Janovec was a replacement, but well liked in spite of that, and if the rumors were true, well liked by the ladies.

Winters came running up to see for himself.

"It's Private Janovec," confirmed the medic.

"He was dead when they brought him in," said the surgeon, pulling the blanket over Janovec's face.

Eve swallowed the bile, the regret and impotent rage. _Why are people still dying? The war is supposed to be over! How many more guys are going to die while we’re sitting on our thumbs, waiting to go off to another fight?_

"Seventy-five points," said Webster, absently.

"What?" asked Speirs sharply.

Winters gave Webster a sharp look as well, but Eve had already heard the man perfectly well.

There was nothing any of them could do. The Army had set it up so that most men would be forced to stay in, so they would have to stay and fight in the Pacific.

It wasn't fair. These men had done what they'd set out to do. Easy Company had invaded Europe and won. And now it felt like they were being punished for it.

"He was ten points short," Webster continued, sounding like he was in a daze.

She left them, too angry to sit staring after the ambulance, and led the way back to the CP to fill out the paperwork, Winters and Speirs right behind her.

A new dread filled her as she went. How many more of her friends had survived everything the Nazis could throw at them, only to die before they could get home to see their families, all because of some stupid points?

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Updates are every Thursday. Massive 'thank you' to those who took the time to leave kudos. Your feedback means the world to me.


	54. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Easy Company begins preparing to go to the Pacific even as they enjoy the spoils of victory. 
> 
> "Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged." - Samuel Johnson
> 
> Now: Trouble rouses Easy Company in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Beta's: Atman, Laura001, and FandomlyCroft all gave their invaluable time to making this chapter what it is. All the thanks and love to them.

-Chapter 54-

Eve snapped awake.

Someone was screaming for a medic.

She was out of bed and on her feet immediately, recognizing the tone in his voice, but it had no business here in Austria, not now that the fighting was over.

Someone was dying.

She burst from her room and met Captain Speirs and Doc Roe in the hallway as they converged on two privates hauling a limp body between them. She noticed the dripping red obscuring his facial features and could not even recognize her friend until she heard one of them say, "It's Sergeant Grant!"

Eve and Speirs immediately took over for the frightened replacements, ducking under Grant's shoulders to replace them while Roe darted behind them to get a better look at the wound.

"Get a stretcher," Eve barked at one of the now gawking privates. His panic-stricken face smoothed into a confident nod now that he had a task to occupy himself with.

There was so much blood.

"We need a surgeon," Roe told Speirs.

Eve was busy looking at the man Speirs had replaced, the only witness. "Did you see it?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a swallow. "He was a friendly, an American."

Eve froze for a half a beat as her body registered the shock that someone – a goddamn American for Christ’s sake – had shot Grant in the head.

Whoever he was, he was a dead man walking as far as she was concerned.

"We’ve gotta get him to the aid station," said Roe, having finished tying a quick bandage to the wound with Captain Speirs's assistance.

They moved Grant onto the stretcher the Private had just returned with, practice giving their movements speed and efficiency. Eve wasn't really sure why the stretcher had been in the CP – it couldn’t have been anywhere else for the kid to have come back with it so fast – but she'd never been more thankful for misplaced equipment.

Roe started a plasma drip as soon as Grant was horizontal. Finished, he held the bottle aloft and nodded. It was safe to move the man now.

"Don't go anywhere," she ordered, pinning each witness to the spot as she lifted her portion of Grant's stretcher easily, adrenaline giving her strength she wouldn't normally have. She didn’t have time to make sure they obeyed.

They used the jeep the replacement’s had, strapping the stretcher to the nose and peeling rubber off the tires as they covered the relatively short distance to the warehouse that had been acting as Second Battalion’s aid station.

The three made their way inside and set Grant's stretcher on a table.

"Buchanan!" barked Speirs, "Go wake the surgeon."

Eve took off immediately, not even registering Speirs's aggressive tone beyond the worry she could hear underneath.

The air burned her lungs as she ran faster than she ever had before. Time was of the essence. The longer Grant’s head wound went untreated, the more likely the brain damage would be irreversible.

She hit the door to the surgeon's quarters with a bang and began pounding on it with all her might. She'd wake the entire damn street if she had to.

"What!" the man barked, opening the door with a snap. He was dressed, but he'd obviously fallen asleep in his clothes. He was trying to scrub sleep out of his eyes.

"Sergeant Grant's been shot, he's at the aid station," she informed him as she tugged him outside by his collar.

Understanding gave him back some dexterity. It took the man no time at all to get his feet under him – a feat that reluctantly impressed Eve – as he followed her at a run.

When they slid into the warehouse come aid station, the plasma drip had already turned red with Grant's blood. Captain Speirs was holding the man’s hand. It was the most intimate thing she'd ever witnessed him doing, but he didn't stop.

The terrifying legend of Ronald Speirs had well and truly been put to rest. The men might respect the hell out of him, but they no longer feared that he would shoot them for infractions like drinking, or taking an offered cigarette. Speirs's hands interlocked fingers with Grant's, stroking the back of his hand, letting the man know, in the only way he could, that he was not alone was the final proof of that.

Eve stood out of the way as the surgeon flipped on the light by the table, illuminating the wound as he peeled back Roe's careful bandage.

"Jesus," the surgeon hissed, breaking the tense silence. A cigarette he must’ve lit while she wasn’t paying any attention was dangling between his teeth.

God help the man if he got ash in Grant's wound.

"What?" Speirs demanded softly.

The surgeon looked up, something close to pity in his eyes. "He's not gonna make it," he announced, facing Roe. Roe, who understood how difficult the admission was, who after bearing witness to Bastogne, surely knew the odds.

"You can't operate on him?" asked the Cajun softly, disbelief in his voice.

"Not me," he said.

Eve glared at him, arms crossed protectively in front of her, trying to ward off the horror of yet another one of her friends dying, in agony, for no fucking reason. The war was over. Over for Christ's sake.

"You'd need a brain surgeon," he continued, "and even if you had one, I don't think there's any hope." He rubbed at his eyes and moved away, giving up.

Roe's head slumped in denial. Eve closed her eyes in pain.

It was Speirs who rallied, refusing to accept defeat, especially in a fight as important as this.

He sucked in a breath and pointed a finger at Eve. "You find the shooter. I want him alive."

Eve nodded, fire rekindled. Found was a given. Easy Company would hunt Grant’s shooter to the ends of the earth. Uninjured, definitely not, but alive she could do.

"Come on," Speirs said moving quickly to the head of the stretcher. "Help me," he demanded. Eve moved just as quickly to the bottom rungs, having anticipated his intention the moment he'd moved. They needed to get Grant back on the jeep.

"What are you doing?" the surgeon questioned.

"We're gonna go find a brain surgeon!" Speirs said, moving quickly.

Roe rounded the table and followed, trying to keep the plasma aloft as they ran out the door.

Eve positioned the stretcher on the hood, and squeezed Grant’s hand, sending off a prayer as she got out of the way. Speirs jumped behind the wheel and within seconds, they were off, Roe still hovering like a guardian angel over the man strapped to the hood, holding the plasma that was Grant's lifeline like a beacon of hope.

She watched them disappear into the distance, the only taillights illuminating the deserted street.

Eve exhaled a sigh, letting all of her fear for Grant go, and inhaled deeply, stoking her rage.

She had troops to rally.

-

Eve stormed through the barracks, pounding on doors as she passed, demanding everyone get the fuck out of bed right the fuck now.

"Grant's been shot," she greeted the first irritated face. It only took one telling before men, who seemed to have heard it through the cracks in the walls spilled out of their rooms, ready to go beat the shit out of whoever had hurt their friend. The Toccoa guys were first on their feet, as they always were, and started pulling on their gear, trusting her without needing a word of explanation.

"Hey Lieb," she said, pushing her way between him and Popeye, making her way back up the hallway after pounding on the last door, he slid out of her way quickly, falling into line behind her, avenging valkyrie on their way to war.

"I want a Non-Com guarding each roadblock," she said, hurrying through the barracks. Whoever the bastard was, he had a head start. "And at least two men watching every road out of town. Bull," she picked from the pack of men behind her. She'd never needed to wonder whether or not he was at her back, it was just something she could sense even so long after Holland. "Malark," she said, picking her closest ally, clad only in his undershirt but holding his shirt, jacket, and M1 folded over his arm. "You each take a squad and one of these witnesses on a house to house search."

"Can we shoot this bastard on sight?" asked Malarkey, eager for revenge.

"No," she said, spinning to look as many men in the eye as she could, she knew they were likely to accidentally forget if she didn't make this absolutely clear. "Speirs wants him alive. I want him alive."

Solemn nods met this declaration. Eve glared into a few stubborn eyes before their owners bowed to her orders and nodded their acceptance. She prayed that she hadn't just given an order that wouldn't be followed.

"Where's Grant now?" asked Bull as the men filed past Eve, eager to fulfill their role in bringing the bastard to justice.

"They took him to a Kraut hospital," she said, "see if they could drum up any good doctors." Her voice was skeptical. Bull gave her shoulder a heavy-handed clap and rallied his squad.

Eve felt like she’d just unleashed the hounds on a fox hunt.

Now she just had to wait for them to return with their prey.

-

It didn't take them long to find him.

Eve had established a base of operations in the CP, filtering reports from the patrols doggedly searching for the man who'd shot Grant. She didn't turn away anyone willing to help– and there were several men from all over the 506 who came forward to help them run down the bastard who'd shot Grant – but this was Easy Company business, she warned them. Toccoa business. Everyone else should just stay the hell out of their way once they'd found him.

A part of her ached to be a part of the search as well, but she knew that she was far more use here coordinating than she'd be as an extra body in the field.

It took less than three hours before she got word that he'd been found by Bull, Malarkey, and Christenson's squad.

Not bad for the guy having a four hour head start and a jeep full of gas.

When the private was finally dragged before her, he was smiling. Smiling. As though nothing was wrong in his world.

She could smell the drink on him from five feet away. She wondered if he could even feel the black eye she saw rising on his brow.

Eve shot a glare at Malarkey, conveying her displeasure – they all wanted revenge, roughing him before everyone else was recalled seemed unfair – but he met it resolutely, unwilling to be ashamed that the man had acquired a few dents on their way back to the CP.

She supposed she should be grateful that he’d made it back alive at all.

Malarkey yanked on the man’s uniform, showing her the insignia on his arm.

 _He's one of us_ , she realized. A Screaming Eagle from the 506 had turned traitor and shot her friend in the head.

"Who is this?" she asked, speaking over the insignificant prisoner’s head, eyes lingering on the eagle patch on his shoulder.

"Replacement," announced Malarkey. "Item Company."

Suddenly, the betrayal made a horrible kind of sense. After Bastogne, Item had been down to only 25 guys in the whole Company. Most of what was left were replacements come in since then. She could imagine that Item was just one big powder keg, bound to explode sometime. It was this Private's bad luck to have picked an Easy Company man, a Toccoa veteran no less, to explode on. It was his folly, and from the set of Speirs's shoulders as he'd run off to find a surgeon, his doom.

He was never going to get another chance to hurt any more of her friends. She would kill this snake in their den before his poison stole more of her friends from her.

"And the witnesses identified him?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There is no doubt?" she asked, needing to be sure.

"None," affirmed Christenson.

Eve took a deep breath, not sure what to do with the man now that she had him. A large part of her wanted to hit him until the knot of fear in her chest loosened, until she knew Grant's fate.

One thing she knew with certainty, if Grant died, the replacement would follow.

"He was caught raping an Austrian woman."

Eve's eyes shot to Malarkey, who gave the barest nod. She closed her eyes and tried to compose herself through another tide of rage.

The man was lucky he was still alive at all, she realized, forgiving her men for giving him the black eye he'd deserved.

"Tie him up," she ordered, tilting her head to the room just off the main entry, ironically the same room they'd been showing newsreels of the Pacific a few days ago. "I want a double guard on this piece of shit at all times."

The men nodded. Bull and Christenson, who had the captive replacement firmly secured between them, dragged him into the room.

"Spread the word that he's been found," she ordered. Malarkey picked five men and sent them off. None of them were original Toccoa guys. Those who stayed behind watched Eve, waiting for instructions.

She did not order them to stay away from the prisoner, or try to ensure his safety in any way. Winters once told her never to issue orders she wasn't sure would be followed. She'd taken the advice to heart.

 _He deserves it_ , a tiny voice in her heart protested. _He deserves it for shooting Grant, for killing my friend._

"Speirs will come here when he has news," she reminded them. "He’ll want to talk to the bastard. Keep him alive until then. Luz, you have the first watch on the door. I am going to get a deck of cards before I join you. It's going to be a long night."

The soldiers glanced at her, but were at least smart enough to wait until her back was turned to join Bull and Christenson in the room with the prisoner. And if, as she walked by the door, she heard a yelp of pain, well she imagined the man had just fallen down somehow while tied to the chair and left them to it.

Hours later, Eve was still beating Luz at cards, but couldn't remember what game they were playing for the life of her. She could barely focus, ears keen on the sounds of the beating from just beyond the door, trying to gauge how much of the pummeling the man would be able to withstand.

She just prayed that they didn't take it too far. A voice in the back of her mind nagged that she should go stop it before it got worse. Another voice nagged her to go join them, to hit him until he understood what pain was. She squashed it all and remained firmly in her seat.

She couldn't go in there. Couldn't be caught doing something so against the rules despite how much she wanted to. Another part of her was revolted. It was a beating, nothing else, not revenge or justice. And she should stop it – stop the guys from losing even this bit of themselves – but she couldn't.

No one would ever convince her that the man wasn't getting exactly what he deserved. The witnesses had further described the scene they'd found. The Private had shot two of his fellows and a British Major before turning his gun on Grant and then going off to rape someone.

He had to be taught a lesson.

It was some kind of cosmic joke that Grant had survived a year of the bloodiest combat in history, only to be shot in the head during peacetime. By his own side, too, for God’s sake.

She prayed Grant was still alive, but the knot in her gut told her otherwise. She'd seen far too many men die from far less severe wounds. That shithead had shot Grant to kill him, and she'd never forgive him for that.

"I don't know who's taking the bigger beating, me or him," joked Luz. She could tell he was worried.

Sure she was winning, but she wasn't wiping the floor with him, and she'd just misplayed. Eve never misplayed at cards. He'd actually managed to win the hand.

"Wanna play a different game?" he proposed, half distracted by a particularly loud howl from beyond the door.

Eve gave him an uncomfortable grin and shook her head. "No, same game," she said. "Just deal."

-

Luz watched Eve, taking in the steel in her spine and the ice in her eyes, and almost decided to go in and join in on the beating himself, but he didn't know if he could do it – if he could follow through in good conscience and not take it too far. He knew he could go in there if he asked. Eve would let him go into that room without sanction or protest.

But she'd asked him to guard the door.

Luz slapped the cards together in a rough approximation of a shuffle, getting as much noise out of the cards as he could to drown out the slamming of fists and his own indecision.

Eve shot the room a quick look at a particularly loud groan of pain and increasing volume from the guys egging the hitter on. Stoically, she grabbed her cards off the table as he passed them to her, and started organizing her hand.

"You all right?" she asked while Luz deliberated over his hand.

"Yeah, I'm all right," he shot back, offended.

"Do you want to go in there and join them?" she asked, uncanny in her dead on assumption of what was eating him.

He thought about it and decided – "No." He felt ashamed. Like he was letting Grant down by not taking revenge on his killer. "Do you?"

Eve played a card, and did not answer. "I should go put a stop to it, before they kill him. I would if I thought they'd be willing to listen."

"They'd listen to you, Ev," Luz declared.

She looked at him. "Perhaps. But perhaps I'd just end up joining them instead."

Before they could continue the argument, the door to the parlor opened with a bang. There stood Speirs, an avenging angel coming to sow his wrath, pistol drawn at his side. "Where is he?" he growled.

Eve was on her feet, instinctively placing herself between Speirs and his goal. The finely honed control she'd always admired him for was completely absent. He crossed the room in three quick strides, and Eve wondered for a moment if he was going to turn his gun on her.

She wasn't going to let him in that room like this. Not when he was too angry to think about what he was doing.

"How's Grant?" asked Luz, unable to contain himself. "Is he okay?"

"WHERE IS HE?" Speirs screamed.

Speirs looked into her eyes, something close to satisfaction in them as he took in the sounds of the men wailing on the shooter. She could see his rage, bubbling over, but also his iron control.

Satisfied, Eve nodded to the sealed room, where the sounds had dulled, and got out of his way.

Speirs burst into the room, his demanding presence so powerful that it sliced through the overwhelming rage clouding the room. The mob her friends had become quelled in the wake of his stare. This man commanded their respect.

They drew back from the pariah, unashamed of themselves, and waited for Speirs to pass judgment on the villain.

"This him?" Speirs demanded.

"That's him alright," confirmed Bull. "Replacement, I Company."

Eve, who'd followed Speirs to the door, winced at the rage her captain suddenly exuded.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Speirs, his voice all the more deadly for its calm.

The replacement struggled to breathe through the blood clogging his throat, still gushing from a badly broken nose, struggled to lie and deny his crime. "What weapon?" he asked, defiantly.

Speirs pistol-whipped him right across the jaw before Eve even saw him move.

"When you talk to an officer, you say 'sir'," Speirs instructed, voice as sharp as a blade.

No one moved. Eve could scarcely breathe. Speirs was going to kill the man, right here, right now, and none of them were going to stop him.

The cocking of the gun rang throughout the room, the only sound other than the struggled breath of the replacement. Eve was certain men miles away could hear it; it resonated so loud in her soul. Her heart sank, certain that Grant was dead, that they'd been too late in getting to the surgeon.

Speirs took aim. Gun level with the Replacement's nose, Speirs let the man feel the impending doom of his own death.

Eve saw Malarkey close his eyes in resignation – unwilling to bear witness to more death, and yet unwilling to be the voice to speak up against it because it was so deserved. Liebgott, by contrast, kept his eyes wide open, willing to face the man’s death.

Eve watched Speirs.

Speirs was the judge, jury, and executioner for Easy. Just as his word was law in combat, too would they accept it in this matter. If Speirs pulled the trigger, no one here would sanction him for it, or breathe a word about it after.

She wondered if this was the moment she'd see him snap. If he'd lose the firmly held control she'd always admired him for and react in the way he was famous for in the rumors that still circulated about him.

Many of the men in the room looked away, unable to watch the kid die, seated and unarmed, beaten, after seeing so many of their friends die. It seemed like such a poor trade, this piece of shit for Grant. Killing him wouldn't bring Grant back, it wouldn't even make her feel better, Eve knew. She looked at the replacement, really seeing for the first time that he was just a kid, a kid who’d done several unforgivable things, but perhaps not a malicious villain.

The longer Speirs waited to pull the trigger, the weaker his resolve became. His hand started to shake minutely as he grappled with the question of whether or not the man deserved to die by his bullet. If he deserved to die here, in front of Easy Company, with no further atonement for his crimes than what they'd managed in just a short working over. Despite the beating, the man was still in fairly good shape. He still had all his teeth and fingernails. He had not been tortured. He'd been beaten.

It was no less than he deserved. If Speirs handed him over to the MPs, death by firing squad awaited the man. No less could be done for an American private who'd shot a British major.

Spiers glanced at his hand, willing it to stop shaking and noticed the blood that had got on it. Probably from when he'd struck the man.

He pulled the gun away from the kid's forehead, considering it for a moment before he wiped it on the kid's already bloodied shirt with disgust.

The private gave a sobbing laugh of relief, still just barely too drunk to break down in tears but sobbing nonetheless. Speirs removed his hat and put the safety back on the gun, turning away.

"Have the MPs take care of this piece of shit," he growled as he moved to exit the room.

"Grant's dead?" Eve asked as he left, her lilting voice piercing the stillness of the room, speaking for everyone.

"No," he answered. "Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it."

Eve's head fell to her chest as she offered thanks to God. She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and breathed for the first time in five hours, relieved that she would not have another friend to bury when she got home. She knew Speirs had only spared the replacement because Grant had lived and she respected him all the more for his self-restraint.

She watched Speirs tuck his gun away and leave, his figure still tightly wound with unreleased stress.

Bull put a shovel-sized hand on her shoulder as she sagged. She put a hand across her eyes to hide the tears she could feel welling there. When she looked up a moment later, eyes clear, she found the attention of the room was once again on her.

"You heard the man," she said. "Take him to the MPs. Any of them have any questions, send them to me."

With that, she followed Speirs. She would be damned if he was going to be forced to write the report for this as well, but if she wanted to beat him to it, she'd need to get it done tonight.

"Hey, tough guy," said Liebgott somewhere behind her. "On your feet. Come on, move!"

She left them to it, glad it was over.

The next morning, just after dawn, Sink strode into company HQ.

Eve, who had not managed to sleep at all the night before, was in the same chair to meet him that she'd been in to meet Speirs. For the second time she watched a man she greatly admired, storm into the room, rage lining his face.

"Where's Speirs?" he demanded, glaring down at her.

Eve didn't even think about lying. "Up on the second floor, sir."

Sink didn't spare her a second more before he turned and went up the stairs to get the facts from Speirs.

She waited anxiously for the better part of an hour, dreaming up increasingly grave punishments Sink could be raining down on Speirs. But when the Colonel came down, he walked right by her, without saying a word.

It didn't take long for Speirs to come down after Sink left.

"How'd it go?" Eve asked.

"Pretty rough."

"What did he say?"

"He said I should've shot the son of a bitch."

Eve laughed in relief.

It was remarkable that he hadn’t. Speirs was not a man who cared about summary action. He did what he felt was right and did it without hesitation or remorse. Maybe there had been doubt in his mind that the man had been the shooter. Eve had been convinced. The men who'd found him and escorted him back to HQ had been convinced. And yet, none of the men in the company had tried to kill him. Every man in that room had killed people before, often with their bare hands, and during that situation, their blood had been up, their anger deep and cold.

And for that matter, Speirs was not the only man who'd had the chance to shoot the coward. Grant had the opportunity in the initial encounter. The men who'd retrieved him could have shot him on the spot. Every single man in the room beating him bloody could've done it while she was sitting outside. She could've done it herself when he was brought before her.

But out of an entire company, all of them armed, not a single one had tried to kill that man. Every last one of them had wanted to, but no one had.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d had enough of killing.

Eve was anticipating some kind of fallout, but after Sink's visit there was surprisingly little news about the I Company Replacement. She didn't much care, especially once she got news that Grant had managed to defy the odds and might make a full recovery.

She'd also received a letter from Jackson, who said he was recovering well in an English hospital. He'd already been relieved of duty and was a free man once more. He wrote that he was thinking of traveling to see the Company in Austria soon, maybe even tour Europe a bit before getting on a boat for home.

Eve wrote back, promising to find him a bed if he made it, and filled it with news from the Company.

Luz had taken a page from Guarnere's book and fell off a motorcycle. He hurt his arm, but it wasn't serious. Sergeant Alley got drunk again, and was busted down. Lieutenant Lipton had just left for a furlough to Scotland, and Speirs was leaving for his own furlough to England to visit his wife and baby. Shifty had been on his way home when a drunk driver hit him in a head on collision and he flew from the truck, fracturing his skull and was hospitalized. She briefly outlined the incident with Grant.

"By the way," she wrote, ending the letter. " _You can wear your 'Presidential Unit Citation' ribbon and Oak Leaf Cluster on it no matter what outfit you're in. You earned it_."

-

Eve walked through Easy's deserted HQ, composing the conversation she was planning to have with Speirs in her head.

She'd heard through the grapevine that Speirs was planning to stay with Easy Company when they got drafted to the Pacific. Sink had offered her a commission only hours ago, but she had several concerns about starting over in a different Company. No matter where she was placed, Eve would have to gain the respect of the men she'd be working with all over again. Having an officer who had experience handling situations regarding her gender in direct command of her was the best-case scenario. If she had to start all over, without Speirs's backing, she would probably decline the commission. But if he was willing to keep her with him...

None of that even mattered if the rumors weren't true.

Caught in her own swirling thoughts, Eve didn't even notice Speirs bellowing as she knocked twice on the door perfunctorily and went in.

She stopped short when she realized that she'd interrupted the Captain dressing down Alton More about missing Hitler paraphernalia. He paused to catch his breath and turned his attention to her.

Eve shifted, feeling off balance. She didn't like watching people being reprimanded. It was a common occurrence in the army that she’d gotten used to it, but she didn’t think she’d ever like it.

Nervously, she nodded at the Captain, apologetic for interrupting, and relaxed when Speirs responded in kind. She could hear a company outside the open windows counting off in PT drills, jumping jacks, if she wasn't mistaken. She planned to use the noise to tune out whatever else Speirs had to say.

The Captain turned back to More. "I'll be watching you," he said. "You're dismissed." More begrudgingly straightened into attention and saluted the Captain sharply.

"You better not be lying to me!" Speirs snapped at Alton's back as the man left. Eve caught his smirk out of the corner of her eye, all the confirmation that she needed to know that More was absolutely lying to Speirs.

From the way Speirs sat heavily on his desk once the door had closed, he knew it too.

"What?" he said, voice still frustrated even as he turned his full attention on Eve.

"Sir," she said. "I was wondering whether or not you'd made a decision about staying on?"

"Oh?" he said, puzzled. "Yes, I have."

She nodded, but didn't press for what that decision was at the moment, "I was wondering," she said, then reconsidered and changed tactics. "Colonel Sink has offered me a commission, if I decide to stay in the army. I was hoping to get your advice, sir."

"What's the commission?"

"First Lieutenant," she answered with a rueful smile, "I'd be starting at the bottom again."

"You want to stay in the army?" he asked with some skepticism.

Eve sighed. Trust Spiers to cut to the point. "I don't know. I think I'd like to travel around a bit, if we ever get back home, but I've worked too hard to earn a place in the army to squander the chance at a career."

"Sounds to me like you have your answer, then."

"I'm not so sure," she said. "I've got a bit more thinking to do, but –." He waited for her to gather the courage she needed to say: "I was wondering if you'd sponsor me, sir, if I do decide to stick with the Army?"

He was staring at her. Nervous he was about to say no, she began to babble, "I'm going to be starting from scratch no matter what and it'll be nearly impossible for the men to respect me if I don't have a commander who knows I'm capable and will stick up for me. You know me sir and I know you. I don't think I'll ever find a commander I'd rather follow through hell."

He chuckled, disparagingly, "Not even Winters?"

Eve stared at him, wondering if he was teasing her, or testing her.

"Winters is a fantastic combat leader, no doubt about it, but you are the one I've worked with, sir. Frankly, I'd rather it be you." She met his eyes. "If I do decide to stay with the military, and I’m not saying I’ve decided to do it yet, but if I do, I'd like to follow you, sir, wherever it is you plan to go."

-

Speirs stared at Buchanan, somewhat baffled by the respect he'd gained from her. He'd seen this woman constantly struggle in Toccoa, pushed down even by the guys she called friends now, and get back up swinging each time. She'd managed to survive everything the war pushed at her. She'd more than earned her position as First Sergeant. He'd just done his best to do right by her and all the other men of Easy Company. It was humbling to know that through it all, she respected him enough to stick with him, even if, privately, he didn't think she was really planning on staying with the army.

Eve had a lot of political clout now. With the fame she'd accumulated from deciding to stay with the men, rather than bow to public opinion to return home during Bastogne, she'd earned the right in the minds of the brass to make her own way in the Army – as evidenced by Sink offering her a commission in the first place. But he had no doubt that Evelyn Buchanan was capable of doing whatever she desired.

Speirs didn't even need to think about his answer. "You're too valuable an asset to waste, Lieutenant Buchanan," he said, using her new rank deliberately. "If you decide to stay with the Army, I'd welcome the help."

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a grin. She gave him a sharp salute before turning to leave.

"Oh," he said, catching her before she left the room, "Would you send Talbert up? I'm thinking of having him take over Grant's platoon."

"I think he'd like that, sir," she said with a smile and strode out the door.

He chuckled as she left. Buchanan never ceased to surprise him.

Unconsciously, his mind drifted back to the letter he'd received from his wife. Her late husband was apparently not as dead as the British Army had claimed he was, and had made his way home as a POW now that the war had ended. From what she described, in a vague way, he was unable to work due to the condition he'd been released in. It was heavily implied that he'd been in a camp similar to Landsberg. Speirs didn't really know what to do about that. But it had made staying in the army a far clearer choice than returning to a tattered life as a civilian. He certainly wouldn't be returning to England any time soon.

He just hoped Buchanan wasn't staying for a similar reason.

-End Chapter-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Updates are on Thursdays. Much appreciation and love to you who took the time to leave a note on the way out.


	55. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Time: Sergeant Grant was shot in the night while Easy Company's veterans decide what to do in the face of the looming Pacific front.
> 
> "Anyone can deal with victory. Only the mighty can bear defeat." ― Adolf Hitler
> 
> "When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it-always." ― Mahatma Gandhi
> 
> Now: After almost three years, Easy Company is going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing Beta's: Atman, FandomlyCroft and Laura001 are all amazing people who helped polish this story until it gleamed. I seriously couldn't have done it without you folks. All my love and gratitude to each of you. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

-Chapter 55-

Easy Company was falling apart. All high-point men who wanted to be rotated home were in the process of being transferred into the 501st and sent back to Berchtesgaden. The 501st was being deactivated and was going to serve as a vehicle to transport those men back to the United States.

But that didn't stop division from insisting that what was left of the 506th undergo a full training regimen. They were still being redeployed to the Pacific and more than three-quarters of the division was made up of men who’d never seen combat before.

So, it was back to daily close-order drills and calisthenics. Road marches were undertaken. Arm and hand signals were reviewed. Squad tactics were covered, augmented by input from those veterans who'd seen the tactics in action to discuss – in depth – what worked and why. Barracks inspections were undertaken. Mess kits were inspected. Boots were shined; uniforms were treated with care. Military courtesy and discipline were enforced in a way they'd never been in the field. Basic first aid courses were given, though Roe basically boiled everything down to one bit of advice, "Your job ain't to fix the guy, just get him to where he can get off the field. Let doctors and surgeons worry about putting him back together."

Dry runs with their rifles and firing on the range – which Eve got suckered into supervising far too often for it to be a coincidence – and, of course, map reading, orienteering, and triangulation rounded out their training regime.

While Eve understood that the new recruits needed the practice, the veterans who’d been at war for nearly a year now already had these skills down cold; death if you failed or forgot how to fix your gun was a great motivator after all, and not one that could be taught. To go over them again, _ad nauseam_ without the pressure of war, was unspeakably boring.

To help alleviate that boredom, Winters found reasons, usually useless missions, for Toccoa men to get out of the Army and quietly make their way home. He hoarded invitations for soldiers to visit, or explain something, or be honored, and doled them out with prejudice for Easy’s Toccoa men, the men who'd been with him since the beginning.

Eve was sorry to see her friends go, even as she was relieved that they were avoiding the Pacific. Just because she felt it was her duty to stay didn’t mean that she wanted to watch any more of her friends die on some island.

Her tearful goodbye with Malarkey had been the hardest. He made her promise to write to him, even gave her a slip of paper with his address on it as he swore up and down to do the same and tried to wheedle further promises from her before he got on a jeep and headed to Paris.

"You swear you'll visit?" he pressed.

"First chance I get,” she reassured him. He pulled her into a fierce hug.

It was easy to wrap her arms around him and hug him back, even as she struggled not to cry.

Though she was glad Winters was sending him off to Paris, to safety, she was going to miss him. It wasn’t home, but it was a good alternative in the interim.

“Don’t take any flack from anyone, you hear?” he whispered into her shoulder, still not letting her go.

She laughed, almost a sob as she pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “It’ll be good not to have to see your ugly mug anymore,” she teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said clapping her shoulder again as he scanned her face. “I’m gonna miss you, Ev.”

“You too, Malark,” she said, meaning it with everything in her.

“If you don’t come visit me-,” he started to threaten.

“I already said I would,” she reassured him, smothering a smile and rolling her eyes with affect.

“Well, don’t forget,” he admonished. They both knew he was just putting off the inevitable.

“Do you have any plans for while you’re in Paris?” she asked, putting it off herself.

He shrugged. “Not really. I’ll probably just end up wandering around like all the rest of the bums loitering around that city. Blow more of my back pay probably. Maybe I’ll even go back to that pub. That Rose one we went to. Seemed like a nice enough place.”

She smiled at him. “Tell them I said hello?”

“You got it,” he agreed.

There was a long pause where they looked at each other. Eve wasn’t sure what Malarkey saw, but she was doing her best to memorize his face. He’d been one of her most stalwart friends for a very long time. They’d gone through hell together and she knew she was going to miss him, desperately.

Malarkey finally spoke. “I’m sure glad you were with us, Ev. I didn’t think you’d make it, but I’m sure glad you did. Thank you, for everything.”

Eve wasn’t sure how to deal with the look in Malarkey’s eyes, the same kind of loss she felt so keenly in her own heart, but settled for a smile. “You too, Malark. I mean that.”

He cleared his throat, shook her hand, gave her one last hug, and then threw his luggage over his shoulder and headed for the jeep bound for the railroad and Paris.

He turned back when the jeep was halfway down the road, saw her watching, and waved, more a flippant salute than a goodbye.

Eve laughed despite herself and stayed until the jeep turned and she couldn’t see him anymore.

With a sigh, she pushed the nagging fear of never seeing him again far away and headed the opposite way, towards where Easy Company had set up a garrison of green tents on the airfield just outside town. There was bound to be something more interesting, distracting, than going through more redundant paperwork.

She’d barely started down the road herself when another jeep pulled up next to her.

"Hey, Ev," Nixon cried from the passenger seat. "Hop in!"

Eve smiled at the trio ensconced in the jeep, mood already brightening at the sight of them. She shot a glance at Winters – who was driving – for confirmation that she was okay to join them. The redhead just grinned at her. Seeing identical amusement on Lipton – riding in the back – Eve obeyed, clambering over the side to settle in next to the former First Sergeant, shaking her head at the lot of them.

“Where are we going?” she asked, not particularly caring what the answer was.

“A German General’s surrendering his whole division,” Nixon answered. “Apparently, he objects to surrendering to Private Babe Heffron.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Can’t imagine why.”

“That’s what I said,” agreed Nixon. “But Dick here thinks he’d feel better if he could surrender to Second Lieutenant Carwood Lipton.”

Eve shot a look at Lipton, who was beaming and shook her head. _Men_ , she thought with more fondness than was perhaps warranted.

They arrived at the field to find an array of German troops – some wounded, all a little battered –standing in perfect formation, facing away from the arriving vehicle, apparently awaiting orders.

There was a German officer awaiting them watching them approach. Liebgott stood with him, at ease, not bothering with threatening or interacting with the man whatsoever.

Lipton hopped out, leaping over the side of the jeep with practiced ease to meet them.

Liebgott approached the jeep, greeting Lipton with both his rank and a salute, on his heels was a silver haired, steel faced man who could only be the surrendering General.

Eve watched the General give Winters a respectful nod, completely bypassing Lipton despite the lieutenant standing directly in his path. He was an intimidating presence, scanning the jeep with piercing blue eyes.

The man embodied the pride she’d come to expect from the German army, holding himself the way of someone who’d fought tooth and nail to win the war, willing to go on if asked, but weary of it. He was dressed impeccably in his uniform, dressed with all of the trappings of his high position, each button and medal polished to a high shine.

He was too disciplined to do more than widen his eyes when his gaze caught on Eve, but she saw it on his face nonetheless. “ _Eine Fräuline_?” Eve heard him mutter under his breath, glancing at the other officers with no small amount of confusion.

Liebgott replied with something in cutting German to the apparent amusement of the General, who smiled at Eve and gave her a nod before backing down.

He did not address her again.

Instead, he turned to look at Winters, opening his mouth to say something.

Winters cut him off at the knees with a wave of his arm, calmly indicating that the General was to address Lieutenant Lipton.

It was still a slap to the man, that Lipton, a Second Lieutenant, would be the one to accept his surrender, rather than the Major who was also present, but it was better than a Private.

"With your permission," said the General to Lipton, in perfect English. "I would like to address my men, briefly." He seemed worried they would deny him the courtesy.

"That'll be fine, General," answered Lipton, his tone soft and soothing; trying not to ruffle any more feathers than already had been. It was neither of their faults that this was how command wanted things done.

The General nodded, first at Lipton and then respectfully at Winters again, before turning with a click of his highly polished boots and marching across the field to the slight rise where he could address his men and they would all be able to see and hear him, Lipton following behind.

“We just can’t take you anywhere, Ev,” said Nixon, turning to smirk at her.

Eve was about to reply when the supply truck they were parked behind pulled out, revealing none other than Captain Sobel.

Winters’s shoulders tensed; Eve’s glance at Nixon and then over to Liebgott showed that he wasn’t alone.

The Toccoa men had never forgiven or gotten over Sobel’s methods, officers like Winters and Nixon least of all.

Eve didn’t necessarily feel the same hatred. Sobel had been a bastard, but once she’d integrated with the men, he had treated her with the same unfairness that he did with all the other men. It was poor treatment to be sure, but Eve could appreciate it more on the other side of the war he’d been trying to prepare them for. She certainly didn’t like the man, but she couldn’t fault methods that had produced the finest (and most highly decorated) soldiers in the whole Army from raw civilians, even if they’d been sometimes petty and always unpleasant at the time.

But she remembered all too well the constant struggles between Sobel and Winters. Sobel had set out to punish Winters for being a good commander and it had backfired when the company mutinied against him.

The soldier following behind Sobel saluted the jeep. Winters replied in kind, but even from behind him, Eve knew his gaze was fixed on Sobel, who was desperately trying to ignore them.

His humiliation that Winters had advanced beyond him in rank must have been excruciating.

"Captain Sobel," Winters called, not about to let him get away with ignoring such a serious breach of etiquette, not after Sobel had been such a stickler about it at Toccoa.

"Major Winters," acknowledged Sobel with a nod, trying to hurry past.

"Captain Sobel," Winters continued, making it clear that they were having this conversation whether Sobel wanted to or not. "You salute the rank, not the man."

Sobel, closed his eyes as though in pain. Trapped by the rules he so dearly loved, resentfully, he gave his onetime XO a textbook salute, looking like it hurt him to do so.

Winters gave a terse salute in reply, satisfied, and let the man walk away. Sobel had acknowledged his achievements, realized what Winters, a man he’d belittled, had accomplished a great deal without Sobel's form of leadership.

Eve let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she was holding, glad to have gone unnoticed.

Her gaze caught on Liebgott as he watched Sobel hurry off, a slight sneer of contempt on his face, before he glanced at Winters.

There was something in that gaze that looked like gratitude.

Eve remembered once at a train station, long ago, when Liebgott had threatened to fumble with grenades if he had to go into combat with the incompetent Sobel, remembered her fear that it could be her getting that grenade if she messed up.

That they should all end up here, at the end of it all, serving under a man they’d trusted from the beginning, seemed too good to be true. If she hadn’t been there as it happened, she would’ve put it down to answered prayers.

That summed up her emotions regarding the exchange pretty well, actually.

Winters turned and caught Nixon’s gaze.

Nixon gave the barest shake of his head, slightest hint of a smile on his face as he turned to look back at Winters and then Eve. She read the meaning behind his look as easily as if he’d been speaking. _After all this time, Sobel hasn't changed a bit._

" _Manner_!" called the German General, beginning his speech. He'd mounted a dyke overlooking his men with Lipton and was addressing them as a great orator might.

"Liebgott?" Winters prompted with a glance.

Liebgott rested his gun on the side of the jeep and leaned against it, settling in as he began translating, hurrying through the words to catch up with the General's pace. "Men, it's been a long war, it's been a tough war."

Captain Speirs came up on the jeep from the other side, startling Eve as he leaned on the jeep next to her. He gave her an amused smile, copied by Nixon when he turned to see what had made her jump.

"We have fought bravely, and proudly, for your country. You are a special group. Who've found in one another a bond, that exists only in combat. Among brothers, we've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments, seen death and suffered together. I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. You deserve long and happy lives in peace."

Eve felt every word of that speech ripple through her. It was as if this enemy general had reached into her soul and stolen the words, the way she felt, about the brothers she'd found in Easy Company and spoken them aloud.

She regretted suddenly that it was just these few of them here, that all of Easy wasn’t here to hear the speech – she’d never be able to recite it with the eloquence it deserved, knew that even her best attempt would fall flat. It was an odd experience hearing this man, this enemy saying something that applied as much to the soldiers who had won the war, as it did to those who'd lost it. She wondered if all soldiers felt this way. For the first time in a long time, she realized that the men on the other side of the war were just like her, just like her friends, just trying to do their best and do right by their commanders and their families back home.

For the first time, Eve wondered if they couldn’t put the bitter differences, the bitter struggle between the two sides behind them one day and see everyone as brothers in combat, no matter what side of the line they’d been on.

After the first few weeks of being in Austria, once it became clear that the Germans and the Austrians were far happier to be of use to the Americans than a hindrance – especially when it meant being paid in food and cigarettes – the natives had taken over many of the extra duties, such as laundry, cleaning quarters, and the various construction tasks that the army typically assigned to bored soldiers to keep them busy.

Winters solved this problem by having Second Battalion build a track, a tennis court, a baseball field, and a rifle range. Then, he reinstated the tradition from Toccoa of holding weekly competitions between companies, battalions, regiments, all the way up to ETO (European Theater of Operations).

The serious athletes in the company used it as an opportunity to train. They were excused from all duties, lived in a separate athletic dorm, and got to practice every day. It was a sportsman's paradise.

Eve spent most of her down time at the rifle range, testing her skill against the best the battalion had to offer.

Men disinclined to such a lifestyle found other ways to keep themselves occupied. Some took to wandering through the quaint towns nestled into the Alps, some spent their time hunting (this was actually a necessity because there wasn't enough food getting to the Alps, situated so far down the supply line, so all the willing paratroopers were drafted into hunting parties), some just drank as much liquor as they could get their hands on, but most ended up chasing women.

There was also a lake to swim in and a ski lodge that could be reached by climbing the mountain trail. Winters set up a program to rotate one platoon every three days to the lodge for R and R. The lodge still had its Austrian servants and cooks, ski instructors, and hunting guides employed, which made these rotations akin to small vacations. Eve tried her hand at the mountain sport, but found that while skiing was a lot of fun – when she wasn’t falling down – it was nowhere near as easy as the experienced skiers claimed it would be. She was disgusted to find herself exhausted after just a few hours on the mountain.

The party was never ending. Drink and booze ever flowing.

Most of the guys worked off their hangovers with an afternoon swim in the lake or a game of softball on the new field. The boys donned shorts and nothing else when they frolicked in the alpine sunshine. Eve envied them quite fiercely as she sweated in her cotton ODs.

All but a very few of the shirtless boys boasted scars, some as many as four, stark reminders of injuries suffered in the line of duty littering their legs, arms, backs or chests. It was chilling to be reminded anew how close she’d come to losing them more than once. Even more chilling because she knew these were the men who hadn't been seriously wounded, had been deemed fit to fight after they’d had chunk of themselves ripped out in the line of fire.

She tried to shake the feelings off before they overwhelmed her. The smiles on her friends faces helped remind her that they were alive and young and joyful still, unlike those who were missing now, lost in the fields across Europe, not as lucky as the men before her.

She shook those feelings off too, valiantly fighting to enjoy these moments when they were all together, having fun the way young people should.

Boredom crept in. Eve was lucky enough to snag a week long furlough and spent it on a trip back to Aldbourne, England to visit Margaret and Charles Williams, the family she’d stayed with before Normandy and Holland.

It was a week full of not much. She spent a lot of time in the garden, helping out around the small home, or sleeping.

No one seemed to mind.

The time she spent in the couple’s home revitalized her spirit in the way the only home could. She’d almost forgotten what it was like, having a place where she was openly loved and accepted, without the responsibilities or hardships of war hanging over her head. She’d forgotten what it was like being able to lose herself in the little nothings of civilian life. She’d spent almost three years on the cusp of some action, body and mind always prepared for it, but the constant readiness had frayed something in her. What made her efficient on the battlefield made her very poor company.

Margaret spent hours just nattering at Eve until she was able to loosen her grip on her emotions and slip back into the ebb and flow of weightless conversation – where there were no wrong answers and no lives hanging in the balance.

She began to feel human again.

It was an invaluable gift.

When she left a week later, she did so with the knowledge that even though this would be goodbye for now, she was a part of a family here.

She could always come home.

Returning back to Easy Company occurred with little fanfare. She felt settled in a way that had been missing for a long time. Her friends were keen to figure out her secret.

No one really understood why she’d gone back to Aldbourne, well, no one but Winters, who had apparently taken his own trip to the town a couple weeks ago. They shared a look of understanding.

There was just nothing like going home.

-

As the days melded into weeks, Easy Company spent the majority of their time doing various sports to keep the edge of boredom at bay.

This morning, they had a surprise arrival. Buck Compton had decided to come back to visit his old Easy Company pals now that he was officially a civilian.

“Ev!” he’d called, sweeping her into a bear-hug and whirling her around before she’d even caught sight of him.

She flailed, kicking out to get the madman to put her down. “Let go, ya loony!” she demanded, feeling nauseous.

He did so with a laugh, plopping her back down on unsteady legs and beaming down at her without the slightest hint of remorse.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded when she got a look at his smug mug.

He clapped her on the shoulder, almost sending her to the ground. “Got my discharge after the hospital fixed me up. I figured I’d better head over and make sure you lugs are still doing all right without me to watch your backs. Had to make my own way here, though. You wouldn’t mind sharing some of those card winnings I know you’ve got to help me get home, would ya?” he teased her.

She pushed him, beaming herself. “Make your own winnings, you scallywag!”

He pulled her into a hug, laughing. “I missed you, kid.”

She grinned into his shoulder. “Back at ya, Buck.”

“So, First Sergeant,” he said, using her title with a particular relish. “What’s on the agenda today?”

She shrugged. “I heard a rumor about a pickup game of ball on the pitch today. Interested?” she asked, knowing he would be.

Typically, Eve found a place to watch the boys play on the baseball diamond. She knew even if she tried to play, they'd never pick her for a team. Fighting among them was all well and good, but Eve had never professed a proficiency at baseball. She was more than content to watch.

Plus, it was sweltering today. She’d had to attend another ceremonial surrender and was thus dressed in her formal greens once more, stifling jacket and all.

“Lead the way, First Sergeant,” he said gallantly.

Eve grinned, excited to see the boys’ reactions to the return of their friend. Buck had been discharged after his bout of "trench foot" in Bastogne.

After exchanging many very enthusiastic greetings, Buck donned the catcher's body armor and mitt, a bright blue baseball cap reversed over his towheaded hair. All the guys knew he’d played baseball in college, so they’d refused to let him play pitcher; it wouldn’t be fair.

Eve was just glad he was back. She’d been worried about him. He’d been pulled off the line right after they’d lost Bill and Joe Toye in Bastogne, and though they’d said it was trench foot, everyone knew it had been battle fatigue that had knocked Buck out of the fight.

But as she watched, lounging on a conveniently parked jeep, Eve realized – to her considerable relief – the man playing baseball was far more the Buck she remembered in Aldbourne than he’d been in a long time.

His time outside the army seemed to have done him a world of good.

“He looks good,” Speirs said, startling her.

In her musing, he’d somehow managed to sneak up and settle against the jeep she’d been leaning on. He smirked when she scowled at him.

A cry from the field drew their attention back to the festivities on the field. Soon, they were laughing at the antics perpetrated by cheaters on both teams as they fought to win. Like when Garcia tried to push Luz off the base he was heading for despite Luz having the ball already in hand and standing on the base in question, and Perconte when he slid in to third just in time to be tagged out by Liebgott a few batters later.

She cheered as Gene hit the ball with a _whack_ , knocking it clear.

It was good to see the boys having fun, carefree in a way that they’d been denied utterly since enlisting, allowed to enjoy being kids again after all playfulness and joy had been all but extinguished by the war.

Nixon and Winters approached, getting their attention Speirs and Eve immediately straightened.

"Get 'em round," ordered Winters.

"Easy Company," called Speirs. "School circle!"

Wasting no time, the guys fell in despite the interruption of their game – such was life in the army.

"Fast man would have had it, Perco," teased Winters to lighten the mood that had immediately darkened as the men circled up for the inevitable news.

Nixon took up residence next to Eve's spot, leaning on the jeep heavily, his dark sunglasses hinting at the hangover he was likely suffering.

"Listen up," said Winters, "I've got some news." He took a breath and smiled, looking over these men he'd been with for so long. "This morning, President Truman received the unconditional surrender from the Japanese. War's over."

The silence that met this proclamation was stunned.

They were all going home; points a nonissue. Wounded, medals or otherwise, everyone was going home.

The war was over.

It was over.

The shock turned into to jubilation.

Eve scanned Winters’s face and found him beaming at them all. Easy Company was going home. Going to be disbanded upon return to the States rather than sent out to fight in a war that had seemed like it would go on forever.

But it was over.

She’d survived. The agonizing wait was over. No one was going to the Pacific. Her friends were all going home safe.

Some guys ran back to the diamond to finish their game but most ran back to the tents to pack up their gear and celebrate.

A grin split her face as Eve turned and ran after her friends, racing towards a bright future, unclouded by war, for the first time in three years.

“What about the game!” Buck called despite being at the front of the pack.

Eve poured on the speed, running for the exhilaration of it rather than the necessity for the first time in recent memory, relishing the feel of the wind sweeping her hair back and the freedom.

“Fuck the game!” cried Liebgott. “We gotta celebrate!”

Eve laughed, the sound brighter than sunshine as she raced ahead.

She did not dwell on what was to come. Did not stop to wonder what going home would be like without Alex there to greet her, with Liza engaged, if she hadn’t married “Richard” already, and her parents four years older than when she’d left them.

Nothing was the same. The world had changed while she’d been at war, and Eve had changed along with it.

Despite it all, all the hardships and loss, she could not bring herself to regret a single moment.

Good and bad, it had been one hell of an adventure, one she was relieved was finally over.

She ran for the joy of it.

They were all going home safe and sound. It was just a matter of time.

-

That night, the 506 pulled together the booze that had survived V-E day and threw the party to end all parties.

To be honest, Eve didn’t remember much of that whirlwind night.

She remembered smiles and laughter and stories.

She remembered her friends being together and alive and happy.

She remembered wanting to pause time so she could live in the moment forever, where there was nothing to fear on the horizon and the certainty that nothing to come could ever compare to what they’d just survived.

She didn’t dwell on the missing faces, didn’t dwell on the ending she could feel deep in her stomach, a feeling not dissimilar to dread as she looked out on tomorrow and realized that nothing would be the same. That she was going to be leaving these people, these friends she’d come to care for so much, trading one family for another.

There was a restlessness, a yawning wondering of ‘ _what are we going to do now_?’ that seemed to hang over the group like a cloud, deliberately ignored, but as persistent as the rain in seeping through shelter and sticking to the skin.

After three years of missions and goals, there was nothing left to do but go back home and try to live, live for those who weren’t here dancing with them in body but ever present in spirit as they drank to the memory of friends long gone and well missed. Eve tried to imagine doing something at home, something that had as much meaning as this, but could think of absolutely nothing.

She pushed it all away, focusing fiercely on her jubilance.

Tonight wasn’t for the past or the future. Tonight was about being alive, in this moment, with the world at their feet.

They had nothing left to fear.

The war was over.

They were going home.

Colonel Sink crashed the party before everyone was too drunk to remember their own names and gave a farewell speech. Eve wrote it down so she’d remember the words forever. It was far better than that Kraut’s speech, in her opinion.

“It is with mingled feelings that your regimental commander observes the departure of you fine officers and men. He is happy for each of you. You have worked and fought and won the right to return to your homes and to your friends.

"I am sorry to see you go because you are friends and comrades-at-arms.

"Most of you have caught hell at one time or another from me. I hope you considered it just hell and fair. It was never intended to be otherwise.

"I told you people to get those Presidential Citations and you did it. It will forever be to your credit and honor.

"Then God speed you on your way: May the same Fellow who led you by the hand in Normandy, Holland, Bastogne, and Germany look kindly upon you and guard you until the last great jump!"

A cheer went up, a toast was made, and Eve and Easy Company drank to being done with war once and for all.

-

The Toccoa men had gathered together around a little table in the corner, drinking and gossiping as the replacements partied around them for a victory that hadn’t been earned with the blood of _their_ friends.

They toasted the fallen, remembering their missing buddies with fondness and rehashing old stories they’d all heard a thousand times before.

Eventually, the conversation meandered to what they were all going to do when they got home. Everyone had wild ideas, a few had jobs lined up. Some had girls waiting; others were eagerly awaiting the inevitable pull their paratrooper uniforms had on the ladies. Addresses and phone numbers were exchanged. Everyone wanted to keep in contact with each other even as rambunctious antics enticed threats of purposefully misplacing said precious phone numbers and promises to never speak to each other again.

Eve laughed and encouraged them as much as possible.

“So, Ev,” said Leibgott when it was her turn. “What’re you gonna do?”

She smiled and shrugged carelessly. “I’m not sure.”

“What?” demanded Liebgott. “I thought you were going to stay in the army?”

Eve had thought about it; she’d been thinking about it off and on since they’d arrived in Austria, going through all she’d seen and done in the last three years, good and bad and found herself torn.

Now that the war was over, Easy Company was going to be disbanded. Most, if not all, of her friends would be going back home.

She didn’t know if she wanted to stay without them.

It would certainly be a challenge if she stayed, one that she knew she could overcome. She’d already received Speirs’s promise to back her. Colonel Sink’s backing was implied when he’d offered her a commission, but Eve had done what she’d set out to do. She’d proven to herself and the world that she could do it. She’d made those lasting friendships she’d always longed for. She would gladly do anything for any one of the men she’d served with.

But the new guys she had watched come in and bolster their ranks seemed vapid and shallow. They were a completely different breed of soldier than the one she’d served with. She didn’t think she could put up with them long enough to train them, let alone fight with them. She didn’t think her heart could take another war, another moment of watching her friends perish around her, waiting anxiously for the bullet that would eventually have her name on it. It was the acutest kind of agony.

To be perfectly honest, she was bored. Bored with the work; bored with the lifestyle.

She never thought she’d say that in a million years, but it was true.

She wanted to go see the country she’d fought for. She wanted a chance to live life under her own orders for a little while.

There was plenty of time to figure out what she wanted to do when she got home. She figured the worst thing that happened was that she’d do a bit of nothing for a while.

Which sounded okay by her. She’d done enough. They all had.

“No,” said Eve, the resolution of her words ringing true as she surveyed her still watching friends. “I don’t think I will. I can’t take another war.”

“There isn’t another war,” said Roe.

“There’s always another war, Gene,” Eve argued. “It’s not going to be tomorrow, but mankind can’t leave well enough alone. There will always be a need for soldiers.”

He didn’t say anything because they all knew the truth.

Their parents’ generation had been certain that the Great War would be the war that would end all wars. It had been barely twenty years before the world had been plunged into conflict again.

“Jesus,” Liebgott sighed, rubbing his eyes. Eve glanced around the table to see many similar expressions of disgust and despair. She immediately felt bad for ruining the mood. They were supposed to be celebrating the end of this war, not dwelling on something that hadn’t even happened yet.

“Anyway, I’ve had enough of this. It’s time to do something different.” She changed the subject, focusing on Roe, who also hadn’t volunteered any plans yet. “What are you going to do when you go home, then Doc?”

He shrugged. “Find a job, I suppose.”

“Doing anything in particular? Doctoring, maybe?”

He laughed, a hollow sound. “No.”

Well, she certainly understood that sentiment. She’d never wanted to be suckered into being a nurse and two years of combat had only reaffirmed that. Sure, she could handle the blood, but watching her friend be torn apart wasn’t something anyone could ever get used to.

She changed the subject. “There’s bound to be plenty of jobs when we get home.”

“I don’t know, Ev,” said Roe. “They’ve had to get by without all of us for three years. Pickings might be pretty slim. Everyone off fighting is gonna come back needing a job.”

Eve felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. She’d never had the need to work for a living, never needed a job to survive through the week or feed herself. In the army, where all of that was taken care of for you, it was easy to forget that the men she served with were going home to an uncertain future.

“If you ever need something, Gene,” she began, unsure how to offer help without offending her friend’s pride.

He smiled and ducked his head. “Same to you, Ev,” he offered in turn. “If you’re ever in Louisiana –”

“I’ll be sure to look you up, Gene,” she agreed.

“Be sure you look me up too, Ev,” said Liebgott, a teasing smirk on his face.

“And me,” chimed in Babe.

Soon she had a chorus of offers.

She laughed, knowing that despite the teasing, the offers were genuine.

-

When Eve got on the _Wooster Victory_ , the ship that was carrying her home, she worried about her friends. She worried about herself, about the future. What would it be like to be home? Would her parents recognize her? Would she recognize them? She couldn’t help but compare this voyage with the one on the S.S. _Samaria_ a few years ago. It had been two years since that trip across the sea, but Eve felt as though she’d aged two decades, a lifetime of war encapsulated in a mere twenty-two months.

She was not the same woman who’d left them three years ago. She knew things must’ve changed – it had been years after all – but she couldn’t even fathom how anything could be different from what she’d left behind. There were missing pieces, of course, with a brother who was never coming home and her godfather still being mourned.

The world had changed while she’d been away. As an instrument of that change, Eve no longer knew that she’d fit where she’d once been.

She couldn’t imagine life as it was before, it was too foreign now, she too different.

In her pocket, she had a notebook full of addresses and vague plans to tour the country and visit her friends.

Who knew what the future would bring to the men of Easy Company now that they'd been sent back into the real world of family's and expectations? A man who had suffered less than she had might be tempted to label the last three years as a grand adventure, but the moments of terror still lingered when she closed her eyes, and she still saw the faces of each one of those boys she'd trained with who'd never even made it onto the beach in Normandy, let alone the others who had died throughout the war.

She was glad to be going home, but there was already an ache in her stomach, and a burning desire to share the tidbits of her day with her friends who were no longer within arm's reach.

Christ, she missed them already.

-

Five Years Later:

Eve’s fingers twitched at the hem of her skirt, making sure the darn thing was still lying flat after the long ride up to Philadelphia. It had taken her hours to settle on something appropriate to wear.

The dress she’d picked – something simple but flattering in red – was something she’d agonized over. She cursed herself twofold for picking a skirt rather than slacks or trousers. She wanted to make a good impression, but she was worried she’d overdone it.

She’d never worn a dress around her fellow paratroopers, well, not one that fit anyway and she was already regretting thinking that now of all times was a good time to try it out. She’d even gone to the trouble of doing a bit of makeup and styling her hair. She wondered if anyone would recognize it now that it was long enough to be styled properly. She resisted the urge to check that it was all still in place for the millionth time.

All in all, Eve knew she was in for a very uncomfortable night and it was no one’s fault but her own.

Deep down, she knew that fretting about the dress was just a distraction from what was really worrying her. It was easier to worry about something ultimately meaningless than tackling her worry that her friends would irrationally despair over her choice of future husband, or worse still, would inexplicably not remember her at all and exclude her once more.

It was silliness. She knew no one would care what she wore, not after everything they’d seen of each other in the backwoods of Europe, but she couldn’t help but want to make an impression on the people who mattered to her friends, their spouses and children bound to also be in attendance.

Eve tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter if they didn’t like her choice of companion, it was her decision, not theirs, and hers was the only opinion that mattered on this front. It was easier to remember when there was a part of her that couldn’t wait to introduce her own special someone to the men she’d gone through hell with.

But still, she couldn’t help but brace herself for the inevitable teasing she was bound to endure.

Eugene Sledge was a marine after all.

She hadn't been this nervous when he'd met her parents last month, but this was different. He was meeting her brothers now.

As for the worry of being forgotten, it was something she could dismiss as foolish. The evidence to the contrary was overwhelming. Hadn’t she just visited Guarnere and Babe three years ago? They could not have forgotten her in such a short amount of time. And if they were going to exclude her, they certainly wouldn’t have invited her in the first place.

Sensing her nerves, her fiancé grabbed her hand, stilling her fidgeting and smiling. "Calm down, darling. It'll be fine."

Eve was half certain that he was actually trying to convince himself instead of her. She squeezed his hand firmly, glad he was with her. “They’ll love you,” she assured him, pushing red hair from his whiskey colored eyes.

He suddenly looked endearingly nervous again. "Are you sure?"

God, she loved this man. "Yes."

He took a deep breath, and gathered his courage with hers as he straightened his spine. He hadn't worn his uniform, going for something dressier than he’d normally wear, something suitable for going to church, as had Eve; she hoped most of the guys inside would be doing the same, but she just didn’t know. It was her first reunion after all, so she wasn’t sure what to expect.

But the time for delaying was over and passed. She gave Eugene another smile, glad he was with her. "Let's go," she said.

He held open the door for her and ushered her inside.

The room was crowded. Knots of men, in twos and threes lingered everywhere, the occasional woman standing out as well as the dashing children weaving between the adults’ legs.

She looked over the men assembled, picking out the faces she knew from the crowd trying to swallow her nerves.

They all looked so slick in their suits and ties, laughing and joking like there was no tomorrow.

She hovered, unsure once more, almost content to just watch when a voice cried out, “Evelyn Buchanan!”

Almost instantly, Eve was swept away by a flurry of hugs and pats on the back as her Company welcomed her home.

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Final Note: Yes, this is really the end. There will be no more updates on Thursday.
> 
> I'd like to thank you for getting this far, for reading the whole story through to the end. I hope you enjoyed taking this ride with me, and that it was worth the not inconsiderable time it took you to read it. Many thanks for giving it a chance.
> 
> This story has been received so much better than I ever dreamed was possible. It's been a year to the day since I posted the first chapter of this story. It's been quite the adventure. All my love to those of you who have supported me along the way, adding this story to various lists, taking the time to review. Know that I noticed and I appreciate and thank you for it; it means more than you know. I've cherished each bit of feedback I've received, both on this site and off it. I can't thank you folks enough. I couldn't have done it without you.
> 
> There is a tentative sequel/extended epilogue planned, to fill in the gap between the end and the reunion and explain Eve's relationship with Sledge, but it will be a while before it comes out. Please be patient with me.
> 
> If Warbonds did manage to touch you somehow, or you enjoyed yourself along the way, please leave a note on your way out?
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Kat

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Evelyn Buchanan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713684) by [Kat1132](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat1132/pseuds/Kat1132), [RadioCod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioCod/pseuds/RadioCod)




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